


Ordnance

by Liuny



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst, BAMF!Q, Crossover, F/M, Feelings, M as Mummy, M/M, Merlin is a Holmes, Other, Q is a Holmes, Q is a bit of a brat in the beginning, Q!centric, Slow Build, Snail Pace Build, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Work In Progress, a little bit crackish in some spots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liuny/pseuds/Liuny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything began with Q returning to England to finish his "thesis" and Mummy Holmes nee Mansfield having not choice, but to appoint him as the new MI6 Quartermaster, after Geoffrey Boothroyd's death in the Vauxhall Cross' bombing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Back to Mother England

**Author's Note:**

> _Ordnance_ : Heavy weapons of warfare cannon or great guns mortars and howitzers artillery sometimes a general term for all weapons ammunition and appliances used in war.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Everything belongs to their respective authors and copyright holders.

Olivia Mansfield, now known as “M”; was tired. She was always tired, after so many years with the fate of England on her shoulders, you couldn’t be anything but. This time though, it was a different kind of tiredness, right now… right now she felt like if she had lost a son and while she wasn’t the one to believe in god. God protected her children from such fate: _death._ It has been a week since she had called the shot that killed the second agent; she had let herself get close. Well… as close as you can get, being a MI6 operative. She promised to never do that again, to like; nurture, and why not? Love, one of her agent, look where that got her, _again._ Siger would just look at her with pity. _That man…_ she thought rolling her eyes, fondly.  

Tiago Rodriguez was still branded in her mind and nothing would take him out it. It was the least she could do for him, god rest his soul. She was feeling quite devoted that night, it seemed. She sighed annoyed with herself and rotating the key that would grant her access to her house, she opened the door. Everything was quiet and dark. She put the alarm code and the finger print and let herself relax, minimally. She wasn’t the one to let her guard fall, not even in the refugee of her own house. 

She turned the lights of the lounge on and let her coat on the stylized rack and then she heard the clicking… 

“Heard one of your favourites pets died, Mummy.” 

Olivia turned back with her heart pounding wildly in her chest, but her face was impassible as always. 

“Not surprised that you didn’t even remember that I would be coming to London for a few weeks.” Olivia barely accomplished to avoid the wince. Yes, she had completely forgotten about _that,_ which was not going to win her any prizes, anytime soon. 

Sprawled on her couch was a young man. He was pale, the pale you get when you expended fourteen hours straight (and sometimes even more) locked in a room with barely any sunlight with a computer (or two, or twenty… she was not overreacting). The young man was slender (skinny, more likely; her mind provided her). With piercing green eyes that right now were gleaming blue, because of the portable game console he was currently playing with. He was dressed in a style half-hipster (was that how they called it?) and half dressed with the clothes of his grandfather, like… _literally._ That cardigan belonged to her late father.  He was in socks and she noticed that they were mismatched and the thumb sleeve on the right feet had been cut out. She felt the necessity deep inside her to scold him, for doing such thing. He wasn’t ten anymore, for fuck’s sake!

“Good afternoon, Quintilian.” Olivia greeted her youngest son. She swears to God, had she known, she one day was going to be downed with the responsibility of keeping England afloat, she would have never had consented to have as many children as she had, but times had been different, decades ago… forty years ago, it was expected of you to have a family and stay home with said family, while daddy dearest went out to the scary world to provided, _like a bunch of Neanderthals._ And she was not spared of that destiny. Four children were born, from the marriage with the man she, fortunately, gods so fortunately; after so many decades, still loved. 

Four children, all of them quite quaint and special in their own right… the human in her always screamed: NIGHTMARE! But she (and her husband) loved her children; even if she normally failed to show it. Both of their families were not known for their warmness. Haute Monde, _Noblesse Oblige,_ not conductive for love and care. Only the surviving of the fittest was allowed.

The fifth had been a shocker for everybody. Hell, she didn’t even noticed she had been pregnant until she was kidnaped and the kidnapper had let her go, informing her that she was with a child (seven months, the doctor had said) and he refused to kill or torture something as innocent as an unborn. The damn Mafia Lord was still traipsing around and nothing, not even bloody James Bond had been enough to put him down. Death will come for him, though and his successor… well, successors were never as good as The Original. She was patient women. She had to be, or her five spawns would have driven her already to the funny farm.

“Why, of course, Mummy. Good afternoon. I hope the world was not too chaotic today.”  Quintilian or “Q”… Quinn… if you _must…_ as he demanded to be named, because… what kind of name is _Quintilian, Mummy!?_ Returned to a sitting position, letting the ‘modified-so-many-times-that-Sony-might-had-something-to-say-about-those-modifications’ PS3 aside to look at the woman that gave him, inadvertently; life. 

“Yes, England will not fall today, at least.” She directed herself to where she kept the good brandy and served herself a generous portion in the expensive crystal glass. 

“Heard Sherlock is working with bees now…” Q told his mother full with sarcasm and the woman rolled her eyes with annoyance.

“He should have thought this ‘fake suicide business’ more thoroughly. He brought this unto himself.” She followed the conversation with her youngest son with annoyance. All of her spawns were idiots! _Idiots…_ she still couldn’t believe the world heralded the Holmes as genius. Were the people blind? Who thought that killing themselves would solve something? Even if the suicide was fake… now her third oldest was stuck with nothing to do, but to play with bees and try to find hints of an organization as big as the world without much success. It was a good thing that it was a matter of World Security and Sherlock was the best at what he did. Of course, he had all the operatives, all the British Intelligence Agencies (and sometimes the USA ones too) had to offer, but that didn’t change the fact, it was a dumb move.  

“Yes, I always told him that Watson Doctor was going to be the death of him. Quite amusing, I think.” He told with his eyes glimmering. 

“Are you mocking the mourning of a man, Quintilian?” Olivia as her son sternly, looking directly at his green eyes. “Or are you just jealous that Sherlock has found someone that he likes better than you?” Q snorted at his mother’s words. 

“Please mother. I don’t suffer from jealousy; jealousy is the game of the insecure and the needy. I know the place I hold in this family, quite well.” _Maybe… most of the times…_ insecurity was engraved deeply inside in the human DNA… “I just think this… _infatuation…_ ” He didn’t actually have a name for what John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had, have. “Well it doesn’t matter what I think… I defer to the facts… look where it got Sherlock, having to hide like a criminal.” Ok, he was jealous and he was not fooling anyone, especially not his mother. 

“That is what any kind of love will lead us, Quintilian.”

“I hate love…” The _child_ said like if he was actually five years old and returned his attention to his PS3.  “You know what I can’t believe, though?” Q knew his mother was arching an eyebrow. “The fact that Emrys is actually trying to cheer the Good Doctor.” He chuckled without taking the eyes off the PS3. Olivia frowned. “And without actually revealing or showing he is doing it or who he is…” 

“I thought that if Sherlock was going to ask someone to take care of the Good Doctor that would be you.” Olivia always knew how to put salt on the wound and rub it with it until it burn.

“Oh, he did.” He couldn’t say no to Sherlock and he always took his jobs seriously. That didn’t mean he wasn’t seething inside. The gal of Sherlock, asking him to ‘take care’ of that Watson in his absence… he didn’t even like that ‘I-will-kill-you-with-a-smile’ army doctor, for god’s sake the man was a joke to his Royal Majesty's Men, dressing with cat jumpers and having psychosomatic limps. “Emrys is doing this out of the goodness of his heart. The last thing I heard, he sent him flowers that spat fireworks for time to time… that was one hell of a case for the New Scotland Yard.” Nobody could figure out how the hell the flowers worked (and they never would) after one night, for the second time after receiving the package; the ‘small-scale-pyrotechnic’ began again at an ungodly hours of the night.

“Oh for the Queen’s sake… I will have words with Emrys about this…” He looked at his mother with his peripheral vision and she was drowning the glass to the bottom.

Q heard his mother leaving him alone in the lounge. He sighed dejectedly and leaving aside the PS3 again, he turned his sight to his mother. He wanted to ask his mother: “Are you alright? Do you need something? Do you want comfort?” He knew that Bond was a son to her, just like he knew that Mycroft was Olivia’s Holmes nee Mansfield favourite son. They all knew it, like they knew that second spot went for James Bond and he would always resent the man for it, hell… he didn’t even know why… he was in the sixth spot after all, but he couldn’t change who he was. 

_Sentiment,_ his brothers would always complain. Emrys and Q, were always driven by sentiment instead of logic, it was their most prominent flaw, to the eyes of his family. 

Q had grown up with stories of the man. Bond, James Bond, the man had introduced himself once to Q when he was seven with a smirk that only served to aggravated him more. He remembered quite well, _Eidetic Memory_ was something that ran in the Holmes genes. 

It was a party, a soiree offered by the Queen. 

He was hiding in a dark corner with a black bunny in his arms, from one of the Queen’s bodyguards whom was searching for him, under the Queen’s orders to cut his hair down to a more _reasonable height_. He didn’t know why the queen was always offended by the Holmes’ curls, but she was always trying to get them to cut their hair, he was the only one who could be actually forced to do such a thing, so he was always running in those parties. That was when James Bond appeared all Armani Suits and Expensive Colognes. He still didn’t like the smell of such fragrances.

 _Bond, James Bond…_ he had said and then he had smirked and wickedly asked him if the boogie-man was trying to catch him. He had blinked several times, flabbergasted. 

Commander James Elliot Bond. RIP, Former Navy, now Special Agent with License to kill, 007. Tried to marry once, future wife was killed on the altar, womanizer, even though not only restricted to women. Alcoholic; adrenaline junkie, unstable; probably psychopathic, ambiguous morals… _a dangerous man,_ in summary. Vesper Lynd, Quantum; Quartermaster: Major Geoffrey Boothroyd. He knew everything that could be hacked from MI6 about the man. Actually, he knew everything there was to know about every single pet his mummy had… it was curious how coincidentally all of them had a 00 attached to their names.   

He knew was being a hypocrite, but _the posh bastard._

Gods, he didn’t know who he hated more: if the Pendragon’s heir, Captain now Doctor Watson or 007… ok, ok… between the three, Doctor Watson was the only one he didn’t feel the urge of grabbing one of his brother’s many scalps and skin them alive. Now that he thought about it… His Royal Highness Arthur Pendragon and Special Agent 007, James Bond; were so similar he just wanted to eradicated both, from the face of earth. 

He would steal one of his brother’s favourite words: _PRATS._

Oh… he was grateful to all deities, he was never taught to believe in, that Mycroft’s wife was a political contract and that he never could stomach Sherrinford (though his wife was another matter altogether, Annabelle was… his favourite person in the world, after Sherlock, to be honest). He did like his nephews, though. Mycroft’s fraternal twins (one boy, one girl) were quite adorable, same with Sherrinford’s only daughter, because he couldn’t plot the dead of so many people at once. 

To Be Continued


	2. The birth of a new Reich I

1

Q was eating brunch (though this might as well be lunch). He had been in London for two weeks; he was not fond of London… when his sight was attracted to the screen of a television. He saw the Vauxhall Cross building burning. He felt his heart bumping so hard in his chest; he feared he was going into cardiac arrest. He stood up as quickly and he could and ran to the counter.

“I need you to give me the bill as quickly as possible.”

“Sir.”

“NOW!” He demanded with his hands trembling while he pulled his card. Right now, he was cursing his habit of not carrying cash in his wallet. “Damn it! Can’t you hurry!? I need to know if my mother is alive after Vauxhall Cross exploded!” He pulled a paper card out of his wallet. “Here! I will send somebody with the money! It can be more than fifty quid!” And then he began to run.

His phone was ringing and it was Merlin, going by the ringtone, Harry Potter’s theme if you were interested. He had a ringtone for everybody important, from everywhere they could be calling. He didn’t like not knowing who was calling. 

“Mer?” He answered the call, while stopping a cab.

_“Mummy is alive; she was not in the building. I already stopped the fire from spreading and the firemen have already arrived. Rose is alive; I’m not sure about Major Boothroyd…_

“Do you know where Mummy is?” He asked immediately, stopping the driver from driving to the Vauxhall Cross. “Wait…” He told him, noticing that another person was calling. _Mycroft Holmes._ The screen of his ad nauseam modified Samsung (the only thing that remained Samsung was the case and not really, showed. “Mycroft is calling.”

 _“Put him on the line.”_  Q carried with Emrys’ order and allowed them to be in a three-way conversation.

 _“I’m stuck in Sweden, please Q, go to Mummy and stay there until somebody more qualified arrives. I know she is with Tanner… we will keep in contact. I need to go now.”_ Mycroft cut the transmission. Q looked at the phone a little bit put-off, Mycroft always so… _to the point,_ unless he was being a Politian.

 _“Hello Mycroft, how are you?”_ Merlin growled on the phone to nobody, because he had already hanged. _“Bugger, will it kill him to say hello?”_

“You know how he is…”

 _“I will send the coordinates to where mummy is.”_ Merlin made him know.  _“No offense little bro, I don’t know what you are going to do there.”_

“Can you _be_ there?” He asked, trying to get his annoyance in check.

_“Point. Good luck.”_

“Do you have a destination now?” The driver asked patiently.

“Yes, I’m sorry… let’s go to Vauxhall Cross. Just avoid the main highway… is closed. Here is the route you can use and not be stopped by anybody.” The cabbie took the phone to look at the route he need to take and entering it in his own GPS he then he began to drive.

2

Q paid to the cabbie and ran to the building. He of course was stopped by the guards. He pulled his badge.

“GCHQ.” He told the guards.

“Please you think we are going to fall for that? You don’t look like you have the age to drink, let alone to work in the government.” One of the officers mocked him after taking the badge to see it. He had to admit it looked real. It scared him a little that somebody could do such a fake, especially somebody that didn’t look a day over fifteen.

Q was so used to the age joke; he didn’t even register it in his mind anymore. It was pure luck that somebody was passing by and that he knew that somebody.

“Moneypenny! Eve Moneypenny!” He called the woman attention. Q couldn’t avoid it. He sucked a breath, when he saw the woman. She was still as beautiful as he remembered her, but she was also dead inside, her chocolate eyes were dull and she had dark circle and bags. He then remembered who actually pulled the trigger, which would release the bullet that killed Bond, James Bond.

“Quintilian Holmes? Q!?” Her face suddenly sparked to the Moneypenny he knew when they were in the academy.

“Thank god you are ok!” He was actually glad that she was alive.

“Miss Moneypenny, you know this kid?” One of the officers asked the agent surprised.

“Yes, of course I do. I know he looks like a teenager…” Eve giggled when he saw that Q got all bothered, like a rabid cat. He only needed the whiskers and the ears. She then returned to her ‘business face’. “The badge is real.” Moneypenny assured them, taking the badge back.

“I apologize, sir.” The officer that made the crack about his age apologized.

“I understand and I don’t care, you were just doing your job.” The officers nodded, wincing. “Is M here yet?”

“No. She had been detained, but she is on route.” The dark skinned woman told him.

“ETA?” He asked in the same business tone.

“Maybe twenty minutes…” Moneypenny stopped, causing Q to do the same. Bodies and more bodies were carried on stretchers outside the building. “Gods, we don’t even know how many people have died…”

“Rose is alive.” He offered as a consolation knowing that R and Moneypenny were good friends.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred per cent.” He assured the woman. Moneypenny looked like a woman whom was about to faint, but he knew better, she was a highly trained agent.

“That’s good… that’s really good.”

3

“Sir, we are in a deep one.” Rose told M, the moment she arrived to the building. M looked at her subordinate with bleak and tired eyes. Rose was full of cuts and had an arm on a sling. That woman was a friend, she needn’t pretend.

“M…” Rose changed the tone. “Geoffrey is dead…”

“Bugger, Boothroyd is death?” The head of MI6 cursed.

“Q branch was the epicentre of the explosion, sir.”

“Damn, we need a Q… _urgently…_ Rose…”

“I’m sorry, M. But you know I’m only in Q-branch to hold the administrative processes the boffins don’t even bother to learn. What I know of computers I know, because I have learnt with the years, nothing more. I’m not a scientist…” It was true. After R had been killed in action, it had been an executive decision that Q-branch second in command was not going to be a genius technician, but a genius manager, after the disaster; administratively speaking that was Q-branch.

“What about R?” Well, Rose was R, but she meant the R that actually knew about computers. She was aware the boffins of Q-branch had dubbed the man “S” or something…

“Dead…” Rose winced. The situation was bad. M took a hand to her face, forcing her head to go as faster as she couldn’t.

“Ma’am?” Tanner asked worried.

“Get me Quintilian…” She ordered Tanner.

“Ma’am?” He asked flabbergasted.

“I am speaking in a language you cannot understand Tanner? Get me Quintilian Holmes; right now… he should be in Communications Headquarters. Gods know what those idiots want with him, especially after I told them; he was here to finish his thesis…”

“What number is this again?” Tanner asked. Quintilian Holmes was always coming to London to finish his theses.

“Do I look like I count every bloody time he decides to do a new doctorate, Tanner?” The woman bite annoyed.

“You don’t go to his graduations?”

“Get to him, NOW!” She was not going to think that she had never had the time to go to any of the fifty thousand graduations her youngest had so far in his life.

“Sir?” Rose asked carefully after Tanner departed searching for a Quintilian Holmes. 

“Come with me Rose, I have to talk to you and I want you to swear me that you will take this to your grave.”

“Of course, sir! You know you can trust me!” Rose assured her, like if she suddenly was again that twenty old year girl. M looked at her penetratingly. She couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I know, Rose… please close the door.” M took a seat in the office they were using right now that was not destroyed.

“What is it, sir?” Rose asked now uncomfortable.

“I need to tell you who is Quintilian Holmes… or better yet. ‘Q’ as he usually demands to be called. Given that you will be working with him for now and I know that I can let him in someone’s hands.”

“I’m listening.”

“He is my youngest son…” M looked at Rose face and he hoped she could have dropped that bomb in another circumstances. She recovered quickly, though.

“Didn’t know you had family, sir…”

“Only you, Tanner, the Prime Minister and the Queen knows that.”

“I will take the secret to the grave, sir.”

“As I said: I know you will.” M knew with certainty. Rose has proven herself, over and over again.

“Ma’am!” Tanner was again in her offices. M just sighed and Rose felt sorry for Tanner.

“Tanner, didn’t I bloody tell you to search for Quintilian?”

“There is no need; I am already here, ma’am…”

When M confessed she had children, Rose imagination ran wild, because youngest meant more than one and that meant M was married or at least had somebody whom she loved, or in general it meant that of course. In those few minutes she had imagined a lot of things, trying to form a picture of what a son of M could look like, she certainty wasn’t expecting what she got. 

In front of her was a teenager that didn’t look a day older than fifteen, with a mop of curly hair that looked more like a wig in that emaciated body, pointing everywhere; big plastic glasses sat before two green eyes and a grey slate parka that was twice his size, covered him.

Rose sighed; nobody was going to take them serious, _again._

Geoffrey Boothroyd had a fame of mad scientist (more recently she had also heard people calling him senile) and now this kid… which everybody would assume they were pushovers. She could only think about the 00 agents and how they were going to bully this new prospect of Q and she felt like crap, but she was glad 007 was not there anymore, because that new Q, looked like he would probably fold like a paper, under the blond man’s sight.  

It was a good thing that Rose couldn’t see the actual future, because she couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Rose…” The woman was startled out of her thoughts when M called her. She returned her attention to the situation. “Allow me to introduce to the new Acting Quartermaster of MI6, Quintilian Holmes…”

“Sir, I’m Rose Dallas.” She introduced herself like the agent she was, extending her arms politely.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Dallas. I’m Q Holmes of the GCHQ or Acting Q from this moment on, apparently.” He took Rose’s right hand and shook it. She was not overly impressed. He looked like he would rather kiss her hand and that a strong wind was going to break him in two. 

“Likewise.”

“Rose will tell you everything you need to know, Q.” M told them business like, there was no time to taking anybody’s hands. “I want those servers working, by the time we decide a new place to relocate.”

“You do know the servers are melted, don’t you?” Q tried to rebuke his mother. Moneypenny, knowing he was the best, had taken him to Q-branch (or what was left of it) to try and savage what it could, it was any technician’s nightmare. Most of the servers had melted or were fried or had overheated, because the harsh environment… not counting the amount of water that was thrown to them, while trying to douse the fire and whatever his older brother did to stop the fire from spreading… 

“I said: I want those servers working, Q. I don’t care what you have to do… and while you are at it, call back all the 00 agents and I mean all twenty of them.”

Rose sputtered and Q just glared and went away. His bloody mother wanted those servers working, well then… he couldn’t disappoint her, could he?

He was regretting coming to Vauxhall Cross. Maybe he should have tried to cajole Merlin into coming, instead of him.

“Sir, Tanner.” She bid her goodbyes and went to follow the Acting Head of Q-Brach.

Tanner looked at M, whom just took a phone and began to make calls, like if she just didn’t ask her son to lower the moon for her.

4

Q was standing on the threshold that allowed the entrances to Q-branch. He was rubbing his head, trying to think a plan of action. But with every second it passed, everything just got more chaotic in Q’s eyes. Sometimes the equipment would spark fire and all the members of Q-branch that could work, were like ants under the rain. It was a disaster and he was given the job to fix it. That couldn’t be fixed, there was nothing to fix, most of the servers’ core were melted, he was not Merlin and he doubted even Merlin could do something about the state of Q-branch.

When Rose, well, she supposed that right now she was actually _“R”,_ reached Q-branch, the first thing she noticed was new Q, looking at everything with lost eyes.

“Sir…” M’s son looked at her.

“Where is the off switch?” He asked her voided of any feelings.

“The off switch?” She didn’t understand the question.

“Where are the Circuit Breakers?” Q asked now in more technical terms, looking how the ants tried to find another fire extinguisher, with no avail. It was sad. No wonder why everybody mocked them and called them ‘boffins’. Q sighed annoyed and grabbed a bunch of sand that was spilled on the floor and threw it to the small fire that had lighted up from one of the equipment malfunctions.

“Th-thank you…” One of the interns, he wouldn’t believe that was actually a full-time member of the Q-branch.

“The Breakers I’m afraid only the former Q could access.” Rose told him, and Q turned his head to her and his eyes were two circles of green cold ice. 

“I asked where the Circuit Breakers were, not if they could be accessed.” Rose sputtered feeling like a noob and not like the seasoned agent with more than ten years working on Q-branch. “You.” He told the girl that thanked him before. “Bring me a computer that actually works and find me router that can connect to the back-up network of MI6 and the internet.”

“Ergh…” The girl was in shock.

“Did I stutter agent?” He asked her harshly.

“O-of course not, I-I will do that…” And with those words, she went away to search for the things he asked.

“You!”

“You’re talking to me?” A man that was probably ten years older than Q, spoke back.

“Yes, I’m talking to you. Grab a cab to the direction I will send to you phone, once I get a computer and go there and bring the two laptops that are on the bed of the second room to the left.” He ordered the unnamed agent. “I will also send the instructions to disable the security and here are the keys, do not lose them, unless you want to find a new job.” He showed the keys to his mum’s house.

“Excuse me?” Who the hell that kid thought he was?

“Now, agent. We have no time to waste, or would you like to be the lucky agent that will tell M, why the servers are still not working?” He asked with something that the boffin could only call: ‘Killer Intent’ if they were in a comic. “I know her quite well; she likes to shoot the messenger.” The man took the keys, flabbergasted and looked at Rose, whom was also stunned.

“Who the hell was that?” He asked following with his sight to where the teenager was. One of the interns was giving him three laptops, a router and some cable. 

“That’s the new Q…”

“You kidding me? That wet-behind the ears; skinny kid is the new head of Q-branch?”

“Acting Head…” She corrected him and if she had anything thing to say about it, it would stay that way.

“Bloody hell.”

“Be careful what you touch in that house… It’s M house where you are going…” She warned his colleague. The boffin blanched.

TBC


	3. The birth of a new Reich II

5

All the members of Q-branch stopped dry when all the lights went off. A few of them even had the gal of screaming, others just hugged each other thinking that the building was going to collapse on them once and for all and Q was finding himself without patience every single passing second.

“If everybody would stop panicking and look at me.” That made everybody look at the person that talked. Q thanked the deities for the newfound silence and coherence in the branch. “I’m the Acting Head of Q-branch while this ‘clusterfuck’ gets solved. I don’t want to hear any cracks about my age; I will be working with you just until a more suitable replacement can be found, so you can keep your opinions where I can’t hear it. I have cut all the power of Vauxhall Cross, it’s not like anything works anyway… beyond creating random fires and sending you again on a fit of panic, searching for extinguishers that don’t exists anymore.” Everybody blushed. “We are going to be relocated; Vauxhall Cross has been compromised, so you are to leave everything that looks charred, melted or plain irreparable, in other words: all that in your judgment will take more than three hours to repair, will be left here and will be sent to scraps. This all needs to be done, before M calls to let us know where we are going to relocate, which I do not know when that will be, so you better work fast. Any questions?”

Everybody was too shocked to do anything.

“Good, if any questions surge or furthers orders are needed, I will be working along with you. My cell phone number had been introduced to all the cell phones that were registered under Q-branch in case somebody can’t find me, which will be unlikely, given that I will remind in Q-branch. I have here clean cat litter…” Q showed them the big bag of fine litter, he had told the man to also bring, when searching for the laptops. “If something burst in fire, which again, is unlikely, because I have cut all the power, but we all know it’s not outside the realm of the unimaginable. Use this, instead of running like headless chicken to douse the fire.”

Sparks surged again when one of random part of Q-Branch decided to fall down, exalting everybody, especially the Youngers interns.      

“Do not even bother lifting any of that…” Q ordered them, sighing pointedly. At that rate they would need to start from zero. “To make this faster, make a list of everything you think we will need to hold fort for the next seventy-two hours to a week. I will create a database in an hour or so that will be able to pool all the information together and create the _shopping list_ more easily, expect the encrypted mail in your phones for the log-in to the database. Dismissed.” Everybody scattered, not wanting to be under the new Head of Q-Branch’s sight for more time than strictly necessary.

“How useless are you with computers?” Q asked his second-in-command without beating around the bush.

“I can introduce data in a database, if that is what you are asking.” Rose told him without letting him bully her.

“Good, you will use the other computer I brought from my house. You need to check that all the information I download and crosscheck doesn’t have any mistakes. Can you do that?”

“I’m a Manager, spotting mistakes is my job, Q.” Rose told him arrogant.

“Good, let’s get to work before M calls.”

Rose didn’t even notice how good team they actually made, until after she was home a week after of sleeping just two hours a day.

6

Q thrived under pressure. All the Holmes did, but the move from Vauxhall Cross to the Churchill’s bunker almost broke Q’s resolve in little pieces. First, everything seemed to be against them, rain was a constant in London, but everyday suddenly it was a bleeding deluge and the comings and goings were extremely slow. That was until Q called Mycroft demanding a helicopter. Everybody was sceptic, right until after he actually got the bloody helicopter, then every member of Q-Branch was gaping.

“A helicopter, really?” Rose asked him, astonished.

“We are never going to finish this, having to be stuck in traffic…” Rose couldn’t fault his logic.

Second, most of the Q-branch members were wimps and all the other departments bullied them, like they were still in high school and not in bloody MI6. It didn’t help that Q-Branch was like in the lowest spot of the totem… and Q couldn’t believe that the R&D department and Communications were not part of Q-branch, per se. What were they thinking having everything separated? It was a pain in the arse, because when Q tried to coordinate, everything went to hell. He was not reaching the point where he was going to create a coup, but he was getting there, _quickly._

“Si-sir… I really need to go; we need to get everything ready.” Q heard while coming back from the spot where he had put an electric kettle and the box of Earl Grey he had an intern bring back from his home, given that there wasn’t a kitchen and he basically lived of tea, any tea worked, but if there was Earl Grey, it was preferred. 

“Look, baby-intern… we need coffee and we want you to bring us to us…”

“Yes, especially now that the closest café is like a kilometre away…”

“Bu-but! I can’t do that! We are still setting everything…” The Acting Head of Q-Branch wanted to zap every intern in the head. Honestly…

“You are just a silly intern; you’re just being a nuisance. Be actually useful and go get coffee, ok puppet?”

The _Puppet_ soubriquet was the thing that did it for Q, and he was going to obligate his baby-intern to fill a harassment complaint. 

“Excuse me…” Q interrupted the conversation.

“Yes? What do you want? Is the boss calling us?” The instigator asked, snapping his head up.

“No. I want your identification number.” He talked calmly and deadpanned, taking a sip of his cup, exuding as much snob-vibes as he could.

“What?”

“Your identification number.”

“Right, 6677 Alpha, Omega, Phi 334. That’s all? Because I’m busy.” He dismissed the kid rudely.

“Yes, that’s all. If you don’t mind I will take this baby intern with me. Not all of us are just bumming around in MI6 while Q-Branch actually sets the place.” He put a hand on the baby-intern’s back and led her back to the safeness of ‘Q-Branch’, where nobody was able to bully anybody, _yet;_ because the fear of dying electrocuted.

It was horrible what the Acting Head of Q-Branch did with that agent’s code, it was so bad… the agent was taken to jail, until the mess was cleared and that was not counting the harassment complaint, Q forced the baby-intern to fill.  

“I have an announcement to make, Q-Branch.” Q called all the members of the branch. Everybody looked at him.

“I have created a database where you can fill, anonymously if you are this much of a coward; every time somebody bullies you. Three strikes: I will do something to the person and the bullyee will be put in heavy duty until I say, and if I find you are not filling the database, and I find out you are being bullied, it will not be pretty. You have the log-in information in your emails. Dismissed.”

“Is this for real?” Rose asked Q, flabbergasted.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He asked arching an eyebrow taking a sip of his cup and returning to the millions of cables that needed to be plugged.

“They are trained agents and capacitated interns… they can fight their own battles!” Rose scolded Q.

“Really? You could have fooled me…” Q told her impassible, connecting and untangling cables. “R, don’t you have anything else to do? I’m busy…”

“This is ridiculous…” Rose told him still incredulous.

After the database, everybody was scared of giving anybody their identification number (and most especially everybody was beginning to fear Q-Branch, or mostly just his leader, to be honest, members of the branch were still wimps, well protected wimps, though).

It was amusing that they never remembered that Q-Branch had access to all the electronic information and Q had access to the entire universe, which made every endeavour to keep anything secret from Q, impossible.

7

Third, the 00 agents. Everybody was betting which 00 agent was going to kill the Acting Head of Q-Branch first.

_“This is Double O fifteen and I cannot return, do you copy, Q-Branch?”_

“We copy you, Double O fifteen, but it was an order from M, sir.” One of the handler told 0015, when he was able to read the message Q send to all the 00 Agents. 

_“Doesn’t matter, I only need a few days I will finish the mission successfully.”_

“Sir, I understand, but it’s for your own protection…” The handler sobbed full with angst in her arms when the third 00 agent had told her they would not be returning home and cut the transmission.

“Pst…” The Handler that was talking with 0015 heard that somebody called her. He turned to where his table partner was.

“Yes, Peterson?”

“Talk to Q…” The other handler told her.

“What?” She asked shocked.

“Talk to Q if you had the balls, I’m sure he will do something…” Peterson advised her.

The truth was that Peterson was trying to bait somebody into actually confessing to Q that none of the 00 Agents were willing to come home and that those few home, were desperate to go back to the field, but he was a coward and he was not going to Q, but he knew it was what it needed to be done.

“I’m not sure if I want to go knocking on our Overlord’s door, Peterson…” The handler confessed shifting uncomfortable.

“Hush, Danielle! Are you insane!? What if _he_ hears you calling him ‘Overlord’?” The woman behind shushed them scared. 

Danielle rolled her eyes.

“It isn’t like he doesn’t know! I mean! People in MI6 are calling us ‘His minions’ now.” She told them, deeply offended. They were nobody’s minions.

“I already sent a memo to everybody in MI6 asking them to stop with the “Q-Branch Overlord and his minions’ crack, they have going around.” Everybody froze when Q talked. Everybody turned slowly. Q was standing there, stubborn stubble beginning to be noticeable in his face, the glassed where slightly screwed, his hair was a bird’s nest and he was full of dust and grease, dressed only on a black t-shirt and some faded sport pants. “So, what is ‘this something’ everybody feels the need to tell me, but as usual nobody wants to do so?” He sipped his tea.

In Q-Branch everybody suddenly busied themselves and those ones that could scram did it so fast, Q would have thought it was impossible to run at such speed.  

“We-well…” Danielle stuttered, blushing.

“I’m listening and make it quick, I need to finish important stuff, before M comes here sniffing for the report of the day I have nothing new to tell her, beyond the fact that I’m trying to keep the members of Q-Branch intact.

“None of the 00 Agents want to come back to England, sir.” Danielle told him, looking at his feet.

“Oh really? Great… this is just awesome, why nobody told me this a bleeding week ago!?” Everybody flinched. “Do you know what M will do to us if I don’t have her precious pets here, safe and sound?!” More flinching and some shrieks of terrors where here. “Get me a 00 Agent! NOW! I don’t care which!” He demanded with cold fury.

“Sir, I have 006 online.” One of the Handlers notified their Overlord. “006? Q wants to speak with you.”

 _“Boothroyd was to speak with me?”_ Alec Trevelyan asked his handler shocked. The only person that Geoffrey Boothroyd talked to, willingly; was James Bond, which Alec didn’t want to think too much about.

Q snatched, as delicate as he could, but still was a snatch nonetheless; the headset from the handler’s hands and sat.

“This is Q, I’m afraid that Major Geoffrey Boothroyd was killed in action.” Q told 006 in his cold and detached voice. He had known Boothroyd too; the man had been the first person that noticed he could make magic with computers.

 _“You are the new Q?”_ The incredulity in 006’s voice was really palpable.

“I’m the new Acting Head of Q-Branch. 006, you have been ordered by M to return _a week ago_ to headquarters. Why are you still in Kazakhstan?”

_“I’m fine, this mission is not really dangerous, I just need a few more days and I will return to England with one less criminal.”_

“Did I ask you an update in your mission, 006?”

Everybody stilled again and held their breath. _He wouldn’t…_ Q couldn’t be this much of an _idiot._

 _“No, why?”_ Alec frowned at the other side of the line. He didn’t like that tone one little bit.

“You will board a plane today, do you understand 006?” Q asked with an inflection that didn’t admit rebukes.

 _“Excuse me? Who are you? My father? I don’t have time for wet behind the ears Q-members._ ”

“I won’t order you again to board a plane back to England, 006.”

 _“Really?”_ Alec guffawed, amused as never before. _“I would like to see you try, bringing me back to England.”_

Every member with a computer nearby in Q-branch had hacked into the feed and was listening attentively to the conversation.

“I would say: ‘Challenge accepted, 006’ but I’m afraid this is not High School.” Q told the agent deadpanned. More chuckles came from the receiver. “Report to Q-branch the moment you land on British Soil. Q out.” And with that he killed the connection.

“What _have_ you _done?”_ Rose asked Q, appalled.

“I will stay in this computer if you don’t mind.” He told Danielle, ignoring his second-in-command.

“Of course, sir…” She was not going to tell _no_ to the boy.

“Q! You don’t go pissing off 00-Agents like they were golden retrievers!”

“Go back to work, R. I won’t say it again and prepare medical to attend 006, this can get a little out of control…”

“What?”

“Am I speaking in another language, Agent R?” Rose stilled, there they were going again. “Or do you not speak the Queen English? I know another five languages and three dead dialects I could dictate the same order.” 

“No sir…”

“Good. Everybody if you are so kind to stop being the building yentas and return to work?”

Nobody did anything productive while Q was handling Danielle’s computer. They all had hacked into said computer to watch what Q was doing to it, half of what was going on nobody could actually follow and the other half was horrible… terrible and it was going to end in blood and tears for whomever that horrible, terrible code; was intended.

When Q finished with the computer, Q-branch entered in Red Alert, because 006 had been compromised. Everybody looked at Q for five seconds with their mouth hanging, before transforming again into ants under the rain.

“What in all heavens just happened?!” Rose asked re-entering Q-Branch. She looked at Q, ready to rant, she didn’t need to.

“M wants her all her pets here, does she not? I’m just following orders.” Q-branch second-in-command sighed. “He is not actually compromised, but he does as we said or he will actually be. Give me all the information of the missions the 00 agents currently are. We are going to bring all the wayward children to England tonight.” He told everybody. “We are going to leave everything else right now and install the main frame, I need it. Who is willing to stay tonight?” Everybody raised their hands. They wanted to be there when Q did horrible things to the 00 Agents. “Good, everybody else can clock out normally.” He said, ignoring that everybody actually volunteered to stay overnight.

“Will you teach us how to do that, Master?!” One of the youngest members of Q-Branch asked in awe.

“Of course, Young Padawan. Stay with me, I will teach you everything I know.” He told his colleague smirking and did not-winked, but everybody saw it. 

“OMG! He is actually one of us!” Another member of Q-Branch spluttered.

“Gosh! Do you like Zelda?” Another girl asked excited.

“I do. I was the Junior Programmer of Phantom Hourglass.” He confessed to them. Everybody shrieked in excitement and at the end of the day, M was spiting fire from her mouth, when she found out that the only thing that Q-Branch did after lunch was to create a 3D simulation with her son at the head of the project.

She had never seen Q-Branch in so high spirits so she was just scolding everybody from the mouth out… and Quintilian knew it.

Needless to say all the 00 Agents were on British Soil two days after. Some more battered than others, but almost every agent was itching to get their hands on the new Head of Q-Branch, after they received their ‘phone warning’ if they didn’t returned to England willingly. 

It was a wonder to Q, how they actually managed to get everything working in the stipulated time.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly... silliness, silliness everywhere!


	4. Windfall

8

“0016, welcome to Q-Branch, what can we do for you this day?” Rose asked always polite, standing in front of the Scandinavian man. He was almost thrice her in width and he felt twice her in height. He had hair so blond, it was almost white; his eyes were as black as they came and he was pure muscle, every single one of them ready to kill. And she knew he had a prey. 

“Good Afternoon, R. I’m here to talk with ‘Q’.” He almost barked at the petite woman. Rose gulped and took a deep breath.

“I’m an afraid Q is busy right now, 0016, but if you leave a message with me I will ensure he gets it.” Rose told him, smiling cutely; trying to appeal to his alpha-macho nature. 

“Oh? Most uncanny, really… and when the little twerp will be available?” He asked her, doing his best to not grind his teeth.

“Well, the little twerp is available right now…” Q spoke deliberate. 0016 turned back and R looked at the boy, blanching.

One of the interns had run to where Q was, after localizing in the computer. Q had made a platform that tracked everybody’s carnets inside MI6, so they could be found without hassle and told him that 0016 was harassing R. Q simply cocked an eyebrow and grabbing his new cup of tea, he directed himself to Q-Branch with the intern trailing a few steps behind.

“Is this a fucking joke?” 0016 asked R, stupefied. Rose cleared her throat. What she feared was coming to pass. “You sounded like a pre-teen girl going on a testosterone treatment on the phone, but are you even old enough to drive, let alone lead Q-Branch?” The intern could feel 0016 saliva on her face, but while she was cowering in fear; Q was impassible.

“Rest assured 0016 that I don’t drive and even if I find quite simulating your impressive presence in Q-branch and would love to hear every complaint you have. I will have to tell you that I don’t have the time and that I have created a platform of complaints you can fill and I will read it and answer accordingly, of course, but right now I’m painfully busy. You must know how hard it should be for such a child to be in charge of Q-Branch. So if you excuse me, I wish you a good day, 0016. I heard you hurt your knee, you should be at home, resting.” Q finished the conversation with an arrogant sip of his tea, which was probably not the best move, especially tilting his chin up. 

You know when people told “Everybody was gaping.” But nobody actually had their mouths open? Well, this was not the case, a lot of people actually found difficult to close their mouth. Right now, every member of Q-Branch accepted Q as they All Powerful and All Seeing Overlord and they pledged their eternal loyalty and wished him an awesome afterlife and he would always be remembered as the Q that stood up to a 00 Agent, not even Boothroyd did that and every 00 Agent liked him.

“Have a good week 0016 and know that Q-Branch is doing everything it can to send you all back to your battlefields.” He made him know politely. He then bowed curtly and resumed his walk towards the main-frame.

It was only years of living with his brothers that prepared for what happened. Q let the cup fell and quickly pulled a retractable baton from his pocket that he had made into a more powerful weapon. Everything happened so quickly that left everybody reeling and Rose screaming in half.

Q, after feeling 0016 moving and pulling the baton, he pressed a button and tased the man, then made the man kneel by touching with the charged baton, points in the meridian, after the man was on his knees, he lowered the charge and left the baton on the man’s dominant shoulder.  

“Now 0016, I know this will not work again with you, but the next time you try to harm me in any way I will pull out the Walther I carry with me all the time and shot you, I’m a great shooter and it will be no problem to hit you in a non-important part of your body. M will be upset that her pets are being hurt, but I honestly don’t care one-single-bit. I have to tell you that I have four older brothers that pooling all of his IQs together almost makes you a Neanderthal, _literally._ And that one of my older brothers tried to cut my chest open in the middle of the night when I was ten years old, which made me a… ‘Paranoid Bastard’ I think is the term we are searching here?” 0016 tried to stand, but Q upped the charged again, making the man hiss. “I don’t suffer cavemen fools really well, 0016. I recommend you to leave Q-Branch and go home, before I decide to do something horrible to your Credit Report and tell your mother that you obtained your British Citizenship by working in MI6. Ariadna Walther, yes? I heard she was tortured by the British before she was pulled out, wasn’t she?” 0016 blinked disconcerted and opened his eyes wide, feeling about to have a heart attack.

Q feeling the danger had passed; retracted the baton with another button and returned it to his pocket. Q looked at the felled cup and then straightening his clothes he returned his attention to the 00 Agent.

“Good Afternoon, 0016. I’m the Acting Head of Q-Branch. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance; is there something Q-Branch can do for you?”  The Head of the Branch asked, offering a hand to the fallen man. Every member of Q-Branch thought that Q passive/aggressive was scary as hell.

“S-Special Agent, A-Adrian Walther, 0016?” The agent still in shock took the hand and introduced himself almost by inertia. Q helped the man to get on his feet.

“Good, pleasure. Now 0016 be a dear and go home so you can pass the shock and rest that knee, ok? M will be quite mad, if her pets get hurt too much.” Q patted the man’s left pectoral and 0016 just nodded, not knowing what the hell just happened.

The poor man abandoned Q-Branch, terribly confused.

“Master! I’m your most faithful slave! Please Master! Teach us everything you know!”

“Very funny, German. Please, spread the word and tell everybody that was a tool in bringing the wayward children home, to steer clear of the 00 agents until I can think of something, yes?”

9

Rose ran to M’s new office and entered said office without air.

“Who died?” M asked calmly sitting in her desk.

“Don’t search anybody else as Q.” Rose told M, panting. The older woman arched an eyebrow.

“Rose! I heard that a 00 Agent was trying to bully his way in Q-Branch, everybody ok?” Moneypenny asked her friend, jogging to where the woman was.

“Ok?” She turned to Moneypenny, laughing startled. _“He_ frigging brought 0016 to his knees alone! Granted, 0016 didn’t even remotely expect it, but Sir! Make this Q the permanent Q! I won’t accept a ‘no’ for an answer.”

“You are barking at the wrong three, Rose.” M made her know. “You need to talk to Q. I know what he is capable of doing, but Q is not the one to stay too much time in one place.   

“Jesus! He threatened to shoot 0016! I haven’t seen a 00 Agent so confused before!” Rose confessed them, giddy.

“Do I need to go threatening 00 agents?” Moneypenny asked menacingly. She loved Q and no 00 Neanderthal was going to hurt her baby.

“No. But do please send a memo to everybody that any physical damage to Q will be met with a suspension and physical pain.” M told Moneypenny calmly returning to her computer.

“Of course ma’am…” Eve told her boss. “It will be a pleasure.”

10

“Food is here!” A woman told Q-Branch showing them four bags full of Chinese food. Every member right now in Q-Branch cowed. _Another 00 Agent just entered Q-Branch._

Q turned his head back and noticed that an extremely beautiful and extremely dangerous woman was on the threshold to enter Q-branch.

“I didn’t know 00 Agents were so desperate for work that were now trying to do the deliveries.” Q told 004, deadpanned with his always faithful Q10 cup in his hands.

“Ah, you must be Q. Awesome! You are as a skinny as 0014 said you were, really cute, though. I loved what you did with 0016 by the way; good thing I was already on England, nasty things you did to us to bring us back.” 004 spoke freely, walking and putting the food on the main computer’s table (or the Overlord’s Throne). Q had an arched eyebrow and was unimpressed.

“Can I do something for you 004?” He asked turning his back to the woman and continued reading the big screen.

“What about _you_ in my bed tonight?” 004 propositioned overtly, making more than one choke on their drool.

“I’m sorry 004; I think you mistook me for a rent boy. I’m afraid I left that life when Daddy found out I was selling my body to Politicians.” He told her deadpanned, still not facing her. 

004 walked to where Q was and pressed her prefect hourglass shaped body, equipped with obscene breasts that men always wondered how she was able to run as fast as she did and put her soft arms in his right shoulder and then her cheeks on her arms, looking at the screen bored.

Q was impassive, of course. No matter what people though, he was not a hormonal teenager, it didn’t matter that modern society thought adolescence was now until 25. He had never been particular to sex and he was always so busy with his doctorates and work everywhere, he never had time to actually stop and taste what is that everybody talks about. He had a few tumbles of course, but nothing too earth shattering as promised. He felt how 004 caressed his groin with her knee. He didn’t twitch, he didn’t move, he didn’t do anything to get her to move away from him. He just kept reading, bored.

She was frigid cold and those clothes didn’t make her any favours in her condition, because he knew that she was still suffering from the effects of the poisoning she was subjected to before he was Q. He wanted to tell her to go to the medic bay and ask the doctors something to raise her temperature, before she fainted in the middle of no-where with nobody to help her. But he knew the 00 type; Alpha Personality. He had two and half of that as brothers… 

“004, there has to be a better way to get me in your bed than to cause me an erection in the middle of Q-Branch.” Q drawled deadpanned. “I’m quite sure you know how sensitive the groin zone for men is and unless you are frigid, something, probably regrettable; always happen.”

“Are you homosexual Q?” The woman asked in her ear, nibbling it. He looked at her uninterested, while everybody again stopped working to watch the banter.

It was better than television, they swore to their life.

“I’m currently asexual and if you continue to stroke me with your knee I will be very annoyed, because I need the clothes I’m currently dressed with to finish plug-in cables and mounting hardware so you can go and seduce men more worth your while than I am.”

“You are such a jailbait tease, little Q.” She took a step back, knowing that she was not going to get a reaction for the man-child in front of her. She sighed without any inflection in particular and decided to abandon Q-Branch. That was until she felt that something rather warm was on her. She saw that Q had given her his Parka. 004 turned back, with her eyebrow arched.

“I would recommend you to go to the infirmary and ask for something to raise your temperature, before you faint, but I would be a hypocrite, which is not one of the flaws I possess. Do please kindly remember to bring it back when you head back home, 004.” And with those words he returned to his keyboard, ignoring and blocking completely the woman presence.   

004 wrapped herself with the warm fabric and left Q-Branch without any other word. Q’s parka smelled like minty aftershave, bergamot and vanilla.   

“Can we have food now?” Danielle asked feeling _she_ was the one whom was going to faint if she didn’t eat anything. Q lifted his head.

“Um?” He looked at the food. “Oh, of course. Please, be my guest.” Q allowed them to reach for the food on his desk.

11

Moneypenny had come one day to Q-Branch and kidnapped him, honest-to-god kidnapping and those wimps of Q-Branch didn’t lift a finger to avoid it. While it was true that he didn’t remember the last time he had slept on a honest-to-god bed or ate something else than Chinese and Earl Grey, it didn’t merit an intervention, but apparently his second and third in command though differently, because apparently they were part of the horrible plan to take him back to civilization for a few hours.

After being forced to go home and clean himself (and please _get rid of that horrible stubble! –_ Moneypenny). Sleep in his bed for at least four hours and tend to his cat, which surprisingly still remembered him. The mocha skinned woman had made him food, honest-to-god home-made food. It was all so very domestic, he hated and she did too, even to the point of telling him that next time, she was just going to cook in her house and bring him the food in a Tupperware…

Having eaten and rested. Moneypenny decided that it was time for a little fresh air and they were now both with milkshakes, sitting on a bench in a park, watching the ducks drifting in a pond, while the sun set on the horizon. 

“Did you hear?” Moneypenny asked finishing her milkshake.

“What of everything I hear, did I hear?”

“That 007 is actually alive.”

“Ah, that… yes, I heard. Failing all his tests miserably too, he is…” He sipped more milkshake from his straw. “Why? Are you still feeling guilty?” He asked without betting around the bush.

“Well, yeah…” She silenced herself. “You sound almost giddy about that, though.” She pointed out, looking at him. “Do you hate him?”

“It’s complicated. I don’t hate him, don’t like him either. So yeah, I won’t lie, I’m enjoying the failure.” Moneypenny snorted amused.

“Damn, you’ll never change, right? You are still the same little devil bastard I knew when we were in the academy.” Q was a little demon and people never saw it coming it.

“You just love me the way I am, don’t you dear Moneypants?”

“Jesus! Ha! You had years you didn’t call me Moneypants!”

“Can’t really call you ‘Moneypants’ while working, now can I?” He asked/told her, discouraged.

“I heard that Q-Branch is trying to get you to stay there.”

“I hate London…” Q confessed to Moneypenny. She just hummed. “I like being Q... a lot, though.” Moneypenny snorted again, very un-lady like.

“You are going to stay, aren’t you?

“Unless daddy says no; yeah, I think I will be staying for an undetermined amount of time in Q-Branch.”

“God, you are such a daddy’s boy, you.” She looked at Q genuinely annoyed. “Do whatever the hell you like. Ignore your mum and dad, for fuck’s sake.” Eve was always with the same speech. He would love to see her face if he someday mans-up and tell her who his parents are.

“Don’t get so bothered by nothing, Eve. Daddy is not actually going to say no.” He tried to placate the woman. 

“That’s not the point! The point is that if he or your mum, say no, you are going to quit! Don’t you see what you have accomplished? Hell you must be blind for not seeing what you have done in no time at all.” 

Q decided to let her win and not say anything, returning to his milkshake and the ducks in the pond.

12

When Rose told him that M wanted to see him in her office, something cold and dreary took place in his back and didn’t leave. He knew everything was perfect and there was nothing his mother could complain. So it was something else, nothing life threatening, because Rose was as nonchalant as ever and she knew M very well and would have picked up that something was really wrong and worry, because she was a mother-hen. He had never believed in “Mother-hens” before, but obviously he had not met with Rose Dallas, after cutting himself with some tools, it didn’t even need stitches. He didn’t know if find the situation endearing or annoying. He decided that the two were ok and leave it there.

Walking the desolated corridors of MI6 did nothing to ease his feeling of dread and when he was in front of the door, everything returned by tenfold. He knocked the door and fixed his clothes. He had now returned to his usual way of dressing, given that all the repairs that could only be done by him were mostly done.

“Come in and close the door behind you.”

“Mummy?” He asked curios after closing the door.

“Take a seat Quintilian.”

“Sherlock killed himself again?” He joked, squashing the nervous chuckles bubbling from his chest.

“Hardy, har, har, Quintilian. No. This is work related.” His mother told him calmly. He had never actually seen her lose her cool before.

“Very well…” He accepted sedated.

“I imagine that you already know that 007 is not dead.”

“Joy…” He told her even more deadpanned than before, crossing his right leg on his left and putting his cheek on his left cheek.

“Anyway…” She decided to ignore her child’s weirdness.

“Didn’t he fail his tests? I read it you know? Forty something?”

“This doesn’t leave this office; do I make myself clear, Quintilian?” Ok, there was his mummy back.

“Right, so what is the issue?”

“I’m afraid that I need you to change the scores. Don’t make it too noticeable. Fifty-five will be ok, for now. Don’t change the original records, though… just mask them.”

“Are you serious?” He asked suddenly very interested. “Are you going to send him to the field having failing the tests? You do know you actually pass those test with seventy or more, don’t you?”

“Of course I bloody do. Who do you think I am, Quintilian? But that is beside the point; just do as you’re told.”

“Whatever, I don’t care changing the scores… consider it done.” He stood up and tried to leave.

“Did I dismiss you?” M asked her son curtly.

“Oh, sorry…” He returned to his seat. “Yes, ma’am?” He asked with faked sedulousness.

“I’m pretty sure you are aware that all of the 00 Agents are fighting to see who stays with you…”

“Excuse me?” He asked beyond flabbergasted, suddenly gaining the interest he didn’t have before in the conversation.

“Well, this is rare, you not knowing something. But, maybe it’s not so surprising. I have so far fourteen requests from several 00 Agents, requisitioning that you be assigned as their Quartermaster.”

“Well, if doesn’t this warm my heart…” Q told his mother with sarcasm, but too startled by the news. “I have only _trained_ 0016 seriously… so if somebody wants me as their Quartermaster, he will do.” Q told M, quite excited to be somebody’s Quartermaster.

“You will be assigned to Bond.” That was like a bucket of cold water to his head.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You are going to work with Bond, end of the story.”

“He isn’t even a MI6 Agent anymore, especially not with those scores…” Q tried to rebuke his mother. He refused to work with bloody James Bond.

“Irrelevant. I have already cited Bond in the National Gallery. Here is where you are going to find him. You like the work of Joseph Turner, don’t you?” Q winced, now 007 was going to ruin one of his favourite artist for him. “In front of _The Fighting Temeraire,_ he will be waiting for you. Give him a gun and send him his way. Good Luck, Quartermaster, I heard he is a handful.”

“He is going to get himself killed and I refuse to have as my first Agent the worst case of suicide by mission in this life!” M just smirked at her son’s temper-tantrum. “Get him Danielle! She is a wimp, but she will appeal to his Alpha-Male mind set!”

“Dismissed, Quartermaster.”

“Ma’am?” Tanner interrupted, entering the office. Mother and son looked at him. 

“Yes?”

“Your next appointment is here ma’am.”

“Send him in, Tanner.”

13

He had passed all day trying to speak with his mother, with no avail. He had even hacked her calendar, trying to appoint himself there, but she was simply refusing him and she didn’t have anything in her agenda, which defeated the point, because the agenda would not be seen.

“Caroline.”  Q stopped one of his interns, when he saw that the day was coming to an end and he was no closer to not being forced to work with Bond.

“Sir?” She asked curiously.

“Find me one of those Walther PPK, the ones you encode your palm with and the scans of 007’s hands, will you?”

“Of course, sir.” She went away, wanting to tweet that their Overlord was getting ready to meet with none other than the infamous James Bond. She was so desperate for going and gossiping that she found everything in record time, surprising Q.

When everything was ready to prepare 007 for his _suicide mission,_ astonishing himself (and all Q-Branch) he went home that night. It was a question of pragmatism. His mother’s house was closer than MI6 to the place where he needed to rendezvous with Bond. The bed and the big shower were just an added bonus. He went to sleep that night at two o’clock, after Q-Branch stopped calling him for every little stupid thing there was to be called.

He dreamed over and over again, when he was younger and he met with James Bond. It was so real; he could smell the damn cologne and heard the folding of his clothes while he moved. 

TBC


	5. Skyfall Mission

14

When Q was in the same room that Bond, the first thing that assaulted him was that smell. So many years and the man still smelled just how he remembered in his mind. He knew it was getting late, but the last thing he wanted was to speak to Bond. He was not being rational, but he didn’t want to be, either.

One thing he did notice was the same haunted look that Moneypenny ported before he arrived to MI6. He couldn’t connect the Bond he had met, with the defeated man in front of him. He wondered if Mummy was just doing Bond a kindness, by allowing him to go in one last mission, so he could die with all the honours and in a blaze of fire, once and for all.

He walked sure of himself and sat beside the man. He didn’t react and he waited a whole minute. Of course the man would be difficult without even knowing it. He squashed the sigh in his throat and leaning a little to Bond’s body and talked about the only thing, he thought he could use as an ice breaker.

“It always makes me feel a bit melancholy.” Q told Bond, calling for the man’s attention. “Grand old war ship being ignominiously haunted away to scrap… The inevitability of time, don't you think?” He asked half resigned, half annoyed; wondering himself what the hell was he was saying... he was trying to call the man’s attention by talking about the painting, not insulting him, which with a man of James Bond’s standing would surely understand. _Nothing._ No reaction. Q’s lower lid wanted to twitch, but his training was better than the one Draco Malfoy received in the Harry Potter’s books, so he remained impassible. “What do you see?” Q asked now directly.

Bond seemed startled for a few seconds, Q noticed. It was one hell of a recovery, though… years upon years of training he supposed, after that; their sights met and while Q knew that Bond looking into his eyes lasted only, maybe a second, two exaggerating; for him, it actually felt like bond discovered his whole life’s history in that moment.

“A big bloody ship.” Were the first words he received from Bond, after the stupid Boogie-man crack. “Excuse me.” Well, at least he was a polite bastard.

“007.” He stopped the man, calling him by his designation. 007 returned to his seat.

“You must be joking…” Of course the first thing the man would notice was his age. It was what everybody fixated about him.  

He was really tired of his age being used against him. Especially by someone like James bloody Bond, who probably didn’t even know how to turn a computer, let alone how to search something in Google, but in the end it seemed that the man was simply testing his wits and he did do an almost-smile when he called him Q.

 _007 Charm,_ indeed. No wonder his mother loved him so much. He stayed in front of the “Big Bloody Ship” until the phone ringed again with one of his _minions_ crying, because something broke. Peace didn’t even last five minutes. It was a good thing the phone didn’t go off when with Bond. But all the CCTV cameras in the room where pointed to where they were sitting. He smelled bets and gossip.

Looking on the bright side, though… 007 was mostly the only 00 Agent that did not try to actively kill him, before knowing him, but maybe he shouldn’t be looking for bright sides on the subject.

15

The clock showed it was one am and only five people were staying in Q-Branch overseeing everything, while their Master and Overlord slept, after having passed out from exhaustion on his Throne. The minions were debating if calling Eve Moneypenny or not, no consensus had been reached so far. Q seemed to be really comfortable in that tiny chair and the flat and horrible hard table, so nobody actually moved to change the situation or talked too loud.

They were betting when Q was going to end in med bay, with an IV in his vein for his troubles. Only two people had bet the med bay scenario, so far. Q was made of Earl Grey and silicon, he was not human.

“Sir.” One of the minions intercepted M and Miss Moneypenny when they entered Q-Branch.

“I’m here to speak with Q. Why is everything so dark in here?” M asked confused.

“Well, Q was really exhausted and he just passed out on the table, so we dimmed the lights to let him sleep until the new crisis arrives…” 

“That’s very considerate of you, now; wake him up.” She ordered the minion to wake up her son.

“Ergh… yes sir…” He jogged to where Q was and shook him, gently. One bleary eye looked at him. “Sir, M wants to speak with you.” Q straightened himself up, while taking a deep breath.

“Ma’am?” He asked half asleep, straightening his glasses and wondering where his parka was.

“You are to go where 007 is and aid him in any capacity…”

“What?” He was too sleepy for this shit.

“Miss Moneypenny brought your plane ticket.”

“I don’t take planes…” He sputtered, blanching.

“This is a direct order Q. Dismissed, good night.” She ordered him without sparing a single glance and turned to exit Q-Branch.

Not even his mother could be that heartless… she knew that he turned into a fucking wreak when he boarded a plane. Moneypenny was still there, really worried.

“Q, why don’t you go home and rest? Your plane leaves early in the morning…” Q’s face was ashen and the bags under his eyes were beginning to look black and his bright irises were dull.

“I don’t do well in planes, Eve…” He whined and it was a good thing that everything was so dark and desolated.

“I know, I still remember last time. You almost made us crash that helicopter.” She admitted, taking her delicate and manicured fingers to her pressed lips. “You need to sleep.” Q snorted.

“Knowing that I will have to board a plane? No a chance in hell…” They looked at each other for a whole five minutes.

“Look…” She told him and then lowered her voice. “I will take your place, but you have to steer your arse clear from MI6!”

“You’ll do that for me?”

“Well, you will hardly be of any help for Bond; having a nervous breakdown…” 

“Moneypenny, I need to be honest with you, but M will find out, no matter what we do.” And it was the truth. His mother had a sixth sense and he was a crappy liar. “If I can fix it, will you still do it?”

“As long as it doesn’t get my arse fired…” She told him with the same frankness. 

“It won’t.” He promised earnestly. 

“You own me big, mister!”

“Will two boxes of Godiva’s bonbons do?” That sparked Moneypenny’s attention. She knew that Q was rich, it showed in every little thing he did (baring his dress code), but to be offering Godiva chocolate to people was not whatever deal. She was expecting a dinner in a joint or drinks in a pub, no gold laced chocolate if so she wished. It was not really hardship go to Shanghai and stay in lavish hotel, while waiting for Bond to finish his mission. She knew the man and he would ignore her and do everything by himself.

“I would offer to buy you Chocopologie.” Moneypenny blinked startled. “But it’s really a pain to order from them…”

“You can buy Chocopologie?”

“Sure, Daddy knows its founder…” Q told her as if it was no big deal.

“I’m agreeable to wait whatever years for that chocolate.” She made him know, with a greedy look on her pretty face.

“I’ll call my sister-in-law; she is always buying chocolate there…” Q sounded like it pained him to call his sister-in-law.

“You got a deal, then.”   

“Thinking over… I better call Morgana…”

“Sorry? Who is Morgana?” Eve turned back again, when he heard Q speaking of someone else. She didn’t know much about Q’s family and was always fishing for information.

“The sister of a Prat…” He barked annoyed. Moneypenny jumped a little bit startled.

“Um~ right…” 

“Sorry… it’s just… gods I would give my soul for the honour of wringing that Pendragon-brute’s neck…” He muttered annoyed strangling his cardigan and going away.

“Did he just say ‘Pendragon’?” Moneypenny asked still startled to nobody in particular. “Nah! It has to be other ‘Pendragon’s’!”

16

M was finishing the call with her secretary when she felt the only person that lived with her in the lounge.

_Think on your sins._

“He is clever. He is painfully clever…” Q told his mother, sitting on the rail of the back of the sofa, looking at the blacked-out computer with the white letters. “I don’t know if I can go head to head with him.” He sipped from his Q10 mug. “No matter what I do, I can’t ping him… it’s as if it doesn’t exist at all…”

M looked at her son. He was wearing a worn old t-shirt of Sherlock that danced on his body and an open night robe that probably was also Sherlock’s. He was barefoot and with that silly mug on his hand, filled with smoking Earl Grey, also a present from Sherlock, which she never understood, because her children hated Scrabble and somebody always ended hurt, when they played.

“Go to sleep, Quintilian…” She ordered her son. Q just sighed.

“Good night, Mummy.”

“Good night.” She answered him lost in her mind world. 

 _Think on your sins._ She was thinking, but it didn’t matter how hard she thought, she had committed so many sins, she couldn’t even begin to discern which of all of them was. She rubbed her face with her hands, thinking of sending Q with her oldest in Switzerland. If their enemies knew her personally and not even Quintilian could ping him, then they surely knew that Q was actually her son. She really didn’t think through, making Quintilian, Q that well. She didn’t know which with face she was always scolding Sherlock…

 _I want Q with me… *_ he* _knows who Q is, mummy! I refuse to let Q be turned into bait! –SH_

Olivia sighed, feeling a migraine when Sherlock’s text arrived.

_Do I need to send somebody to retrieve Quinn? –MH_

Well, wasn’t that her lucky night.

 _I’m worried… I’m not sure about this business of Q, being, well… *_ Q*– _EH_

Of course, everybody knew and was thinking the same thing she was thinking.

_I am willing to put with Quintilian’s temper-tantrums as long as it does not get him killed –SFH_

She didn’t know how willing she was, to fight her youngest and then having to drug him to send him to Switzerland when he was the only person that had a fighting chance and could do something against their enemies, even if right now he was being quite useless, but everybody was being even more useless than Quintilian was. 

_Olivia, my dear… you might want to take a page out of Sherlock’s book. –Siger._

17

Q-Branch was as usual an Ant Farm. 004 loved to enter Q’s domains and terrify his little minions. They were so tasty and they scared so easily. She needed to be careful, though, or some minion might break irreparably and that would piss off Q so much, he might go searching for retribution and they all knew by now, that the Quartermaster was not somebody to trifle with and that hurting him, was only going lead you to suspension and physical pain under M’s orders. It made you think _who_ the Overlord and Master of Q-Branch really was.

She walked quickly and arrived to her destination.

“How is my favourite jailbait in the whole world?” 004 asked Q, when she was beside him, rubbing her body with his.

“Waiting for 007 to bring the computer Moneypenny told me he recovered…” Q recounted with his usual detached voice. 

“Oh? I did hear that 007 won you, Quartermaster…” She bit his ear and sucked it a little. Q just sighed. 

“Yes, apparently I have been degraded to a mere commodity, my dear.” He complained without any fire in his words.

“You know...?” 004 told him changing her tone to one of complete seriousness. Q looked at her when the change was made. “I’m glad that you pulled what you pulled, before all this clusterfuck and brought us home. We 00 are disposable, I’m glad, for the first time we are actually here, safe.”

“I was just following orders.” Q mumbled, feeling a cold shiver down his back. ‘Disposable’. It was an ugly and harsh truth. They might be the best and not everybody had the mind-set necessary to be a 00 Agent which made them somewhat invaluable, but there was always another one ready to take up for the empty space.

Mummy always said that ‘Orphans are the best recruits.’

“I knew two of the name’s showed in that YouTube video…” She confessed him, looking at the endless lines of codes in the computer.

“They were only able to pull one back.” Q let her know bleakly.

“I know… I was the one that pulled him back.” Q-Branch was suddenly glacial. “Looking on the bright side… 006 is in cloud nine.”

“Joy, 007 is alive.” He chanted deadpanned.

“Yes, I somehow knew you would hate him. I myself have a passive/aggressive relationship with him that sometimes ends with one of us tied with silk ropes on a bed.” Of course, Q didn’t even flinch; he just looked at her with an arched eyebrow; when she told him that part of the story. She could hear clearly all of Q-Branch chocking on air, but Q was immovable.

“004.” The young Quartermaster spoke, sighing dejectedly.

“Yes, Q?”

“Nothing is going to happen to me, here in Q-Branch.” The Agent seemed taken aback for a moment, but like any of her peers, she recovered in a matter of seconds.

“Sorry, babe. M’s orders…” She apologized rubbing his bony shoulders.

“If you are going to follow me around like a lovesick puppy until 007 gets here, please at least don’t get in the way…” Q told the woman bluntly. He had had his share of bodyguards in his life, they tended to overreact and get in the way.

004 took her hand to her heart and feigned hurt.

“You wound me, My Own! To accuse me of being a nuisance!?” Q just rolled his eyes, because of the theatrics. “Changing me for 007, aren’t you?” She poked him with a manicured red nail on the cheek. Q sighed…

“If I had a say, I would gladly take you instead of James Bond, my dear…” He confessed sincere, taking delicately her hand from his face.

“Harsh… why all the hate?” She asked extremely curious, she was willing to kill that cat without sparing it a second glance.

“Maybe he just killed me in another life…” He commented sardonic, which made 004 snort so un-lady like, she almost sounded like a pig, before guffawing. 

18

“I have your chocolate…” Q told Moneypenny when he saw her.

“Are you serious?”

“Morgana is really good at what she does.” The Quartermaster told her, shrugging. “She congratulated me and told me that she was proud that I was actually bribing people.” Moneypenny laughed, startled.

“She sounds like a nice girl?” Moneypenny offered not sure of what to say.

“She is a horrible human being. She once took all of her brother’s clothes on a party and let him without transport. He had to walk for hours in a minuscule bathing suit, until he had signal on his phone again. He told her that she looked fat on a dress.”

“Good for her.”

“My brother didn’t know if being appalled or actually congratulate her and celebrate with her. Her brother is even worse as a human being.” 

“I fear your family a little.” The mocha skinned woman had to confess.

“Yeah, I fear my family too.” Q confessed back. “Do you have the computer?”

“Oh? Oh! Right… yes… I was going to give it to you, before you took me to chocolate and naked brothers…” She apologized. “Come with me.”

19

004 let him halfway to Q-branch with a kiss and a wink and a ray of hope shone in Quintilian’s heart... it was short-lived, though. 007 was at the entrance of his domains with his always straight posture and his lost sight. He had heard the report. Apparently _Affably Evil_ (or Raoul Silva, AKA: Tiago Rodriguez, Mummy’s first pet) killed a slave (a very pretty one, which probably slept with 007 before dying) in front of Bond just for the hell of it.

“Bond, why do I have the feeling that you just exchanged places with 004?” Q accused the blond agent bluntly, when he reached the threshold to get into Q-Branch.

“I don’t know what are you talking about. Are you going to decode the computer?”

“Try to…” Q muttered under his breath, looking at the metallic briefcase on his arms. Bond cocked an eyebrow and followed the new Quartermaster to the main table.

Bond looked at the Quartermaster, assessing him. _The Child,_ he bloody refused to call him a man. Put the briefcase on the table, opened it and turned the laptop on. He saw how the Quartermaster taped his fingers rhythmically on the table, almost like he was unconsciously touching the keys of a piano, trying to decide what to do next.

 _“Well, he already has the upper hand…”_ Q thought, still drumming with his fingers on the table. He was a Holmes brother. He could see that the man had something planned, capturing him was _ridiculously_ easy. _“Might as well cut out the suspense...”_ He sighed and began to put his hands at work, under the straining watch of 007. “Now, looking at Silva’s computer…” He spoke out loud for Bond’s benefit… “It seems to me he had done slightly unusual things…” He turned back to the big screen and looked at the code running quickly. He caught glimpse of what was happening with the computer and it smelled trap. He decided to ignore his feeling honed of years of living with his brothers. “It seems he had established safe protocols to wipe the memory if there are any attempts to access certain files.” He was making banal conversation and he didn’t know why as it was not relevant to what he was doing. He returned to the computer and looked at Bond with something wicked beginning to shine in his green eyes. “There are six people in the world that can program safeguards like that.”

“Of course they are... can you get past them?” Bond asked exasperated and with a tinge of annoyance.

That didn’t sit well with Q. What the agent thought? That he only needed to snap his finger to make it happen? That extinguished the spark and brought out the worst in him; the dark voice in his head that told him that his mother could do much better without Bond, reappeared triumphantly.

All it came down to mummies and daddies issues, it seemed.

Sherlock was right… the world was dull and predictable.

“I invented them.” He gloated, because reasons and then he ignored the man again. 

It was a shame that Q missed Bond’s smirk. If he was to pull his head out of his arse, he might be able to see that 007 actually seemed to find him _amenable,_ but Q was so lost in his infantile issues that he could barely see beyond his nose, in this particular issue.

Bond looked at Q grab a cable and plug into Silva’s computer, muttering some words, looking at the encrypted laptop… that was when a ringtone that Bond was sure was _“Stuck in the Middle with You”_ was heard. It shocked him that it was actually Q’s phone.

“I don’t care about political procedures…” It was Q’s glacial greeting. Bond arched an eyebrow feeling his curiosity levels rise up.

_“It’s a trap…”_

“Yes, I know it is. You don’t have to be a genius to know that, but I’m afraid we will need to fall into the rabbit hole this time, cannot do much more than this.” Q told his brother, straightening his glasses.

 _“They are tearing mummy to shreds…”_ Mycroft was about to display something other than disdain in his voice. Q thought: _that bad, uh?_

“She is a though woman, I doubt it will cause her too much stress…” Q decided instead, continuing with his bored drawl.

_“You will be taken into maximum security if something goes pear shaped. I guess, I am being polite and warning you beforehand…”_

“Sir… what do you make of this?” One of the boffins asked his leader. 

“Goodbye and I recommend you to leave that place right now and take her with you, if possible. I’m sure you know what it will happen next.” He cut the line abruptly and returned to the computer. “I apologize, this phone call needed to be dealt with.” He told, turning his head back to Q-Branch, he turned back to the big screen. “It's seems this is his Omega site…” He didn’t know why, but he looked at Bond, who didn’t seem to know what an Omega site was… “Most encrypted level he has.” Q answered to Bond’s silent question aimed to nobody. “Looks like obfuscated code to conceal its true purpose. Security through obscurity.” And with those words his fingers began to fly over the keys at unison with the rest of Q-Branch, ignoring everything else.

20

He could feel that Bond was getting restless, he was aware that “Patience” was not anywhere registered in the man’s dictionary, but he would have to deal. Hacking was normally a painstakingly process that could last months if they were on a half-empty glass view of the world, but Silva needed to make his move right now, so it was going to click in the next hour or so, he would bet his head on it.

“He's using a polymorphic engine to mutate the code.” Q talked again to placate Bond somewhat. James looked at him like if he was talking in another language, which was no far from the truth. “Whenever I try to gain access, it changes.” He explained now. Bond did that which was _doing nothing,_ but you knew that now he understood. “It's like solving a Rubik's cube that's fighting back.” He added a metaphor for good measure; he had heard that people did well with metaphors. He would never know… metaphors only made everything worse on his family.

“Stop. Go in on that.” 007 stopped Q suddenly and it was a good thing that whatever Bond wanted was already highlighted, because the man didn’t even deign himself to tell him where the hell he wanted him to stop. He recalibrated the highlighted pieces of codes and aligned them in one line. 

GRA-NBO-ROU-GH

“Granborough…” Q read out loud, he didn’t even know why. Everybody had a computer and was able to read.

“Granborough Road.” Bond told him looking at him. “It's an old Tube station on the Metropolitan Line.” That turned a light on Q’s head.

“It’s been closed for years.” He knew that, because a lot of Sherlock’s homeless network lived there. 

“Use that as a key.” Bond asked and finished walking in front of the big screen. Q shrugged and obliged the man, a little bit surprised the Agent knew what the hell a key was, but the truth was that it didn’t matter.

“Oh look, it's a map!” He spoke, actually impressed; not having any idea of what it was coming up for them at the end of the encryption. He watched the encryption unfold; waiting for the punch-line.

“It's London. Subterranean London.” Bond recognized immediately, the old hound.

Silva didn’t disappoint Q, though. After Bond finished ‘decoding’ the map, all the doors opened and Q looked at the clusterfuck about to be created with dispassionate eyes.   
  
“Um~ what's going on? Why are the doors opening?” He pointed the obvious and then he saw Bond running like the Devil was chasing him. “Run devil run, run…” Q sang, chuckling while leaning on the computer and disconnecting the cables. He looked at his subordinates whom were looking at him like if suddenly he had three heads instead of one. “Yes. Shit, shit, shit. He hacked us…” 

“You don’t seem very surprised, sir.”

“Let me put it this way, Danielle. How much time do you think you would need to reach an Omega Site in a computer with an actual OS installed?” He asked the woman. “Somebody brings me tea, while we are at it…”

“Four days…? Maybe a week? I mean, I would have to work here in Q-Branch too.”

“Four days? With this level of encryption? Sorry to burst your bubble, Danielle, it will take _me_ a week without doing anything else to access Silva’s Omega Site. He butchered the laptop on purpose so we could access directly to where he wanted.”

“You knew it was a trap?” Danielle asked flabbergasted.

“He has plan A, B, C, D, E, and most likely all the alphabet letters. I just cut the suspense off.” 

“Sir?”

“He just wanted gloat and prove he could leave MI6 whenever he wanted, he probably even have a device that nobody found that would have opened the doors without us doing anything, but we couldn’t disappoint, now; could we?” He looked at the screen.

Not such a Clever Boy

Such a conceited bastard, he would have fit right in his family, it seemed his mother had a type of pet, no wonder he was the favourite, before Bond. Q just turned the computer off and then rebooted which thankfully was not Window and only took a few seconds.

Q-Branch, as usual; thought Q was always reaching whole new levels of scary.

_“I'm in a stairwell below isolation. Do you read me, Q?”_

“I can hear you. I'm looking for you.” Or he was going to, anyway.  “Got you, tracking your location.” He informed Bond and then he calculated the most optimal route. “Just keep moving forward.” He guided the man, rubbing his right eyes under his glasses. “Enter the next service door on your right.” He fixed his glassed, waiting for Bond to arrive to his destination. “If you're through that door, you should be in the Tube.” Which Bond needed to get his arse out of there quickly, because the trains still functioned there.

 _“I'm in the Tube.”_ Q heard that Bond confirmed.

“Bond, this isn't an escape. This was years in the planning… he wanted us to capture him; he wanted us to access his computer. It was all planned: blowing up HQ, knowing the emergency protocols; knowing we'd retreat down here.” Q listed him tiredly. 

 _“I've got all that.”_ James told Q, somewhat annoyed. _“It's what he's got planned next that worries me.”_

Q couldn’t tell Bond that they shared the same worries…

“District Line is the closest. There's a service door on your left.” He decided instead of beginning to sympathize with the man.

 _“Got it.”_ Q heard how the man was fighting with the door and losing. Q could just sigh. Luck seemed to have abandoned them. _“It won't open.”_

 _No shit?_ Q wanted to snarl at Bond, but he restrained himself. He tried the sarcastic ‘optimistic’ approach, instead.

“It will.” He tried assuring the agent, knowing the train was coming in any moment. “Put your back into it.”

 _“Why don't you come down here and put_ your _back into it?”_ Bond told him now really annoyed. Yeah, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have told the man to put his back into it, but… there was no point in crying over spilled milk.  He heard Bond, still struggling with the rusted door. He was searching another way, especially with the train on Bond’s talons. _“No, it's stuck.”_

 _“Yes, I know damn it!”_ Q wanted to scream and the agent, while trying to find another exit, close enough to reach before the train reached _him._

 _“Oh, good.”_ Q heard that Bond told really sarcastic. _“There's a train coming.”_ Q winced. Bond was not telling him nothing that he didn’t already know…

“Hmm~ that’s vexing.” He decided to play dumb, taking a sip of his Q10 mug. Gunshots were heard and the train crossing in unison.

_“I'm through.”_

“Told you.” Q stated to Bond, trying to eliminate the need he felt to clear his throat and his awkward face. “We alerted security, police are on their way.” Fat lot of good that was going to accomplish, but Q didn’t know what else to do. “Where are you now?” He asked carefully, after losing Bond to the hundreds of people in the tube.

 _“Temple Tube station, along with half of London.”_ The man growled annoyed. Q smirked amused. James Bond in the tube, certainly a memorable date for everybody in MI6…

“Oh, I see you. There you are.” He mocked the man, covertly.

 _“I know where I am, Q.”_ Bond scolded him annoyed. _“Where's he?”_

“Give us a second. I'm looking for him.” _Impatience thy name is James…_ Q thought shaking his head without stopping looking for Silva.

 _“There are too many people. I can't see him.”_ Q would like for Bond to stop pointing the obvious.

“Welcome to rush hour on the Tube.” He decided to answer. “Not something you'd know much about.”

 _“The train’s leaving. Do I get on the train?”_  
  
“Don’t get on. I’m not sure he’s on it.” He was looking at everything he could and even those that he couldn’t. “Give us a minute.” He asked again. His sight locked on Silva, but unfortunately he couldn’t say just yet, with infinite certainty that that was Silva.  
  
“Do I get on the train?” Bond was pressuring him again and with good reason. He grabbed the feed and slowed it down. Surprise, surprise…  
  
“Bond.” Q cleared his throat knowing the train was already in movement.  
  
 _“What?”_ He knew that Bond knew that he knew that he was going to ask him to board the plane.

“Get on the train.” Q flinched when Bond actually jumped to a moving train and then he lost visual contact, which made his heart beat faster until he heard the voice of the Agent again.  
  
 _“Will you open the door, please?”_ Q could listen through the earpiece. _“Open the door.”_ He now demanded. It seemed that the driver did open the door. _“Health and Safety. Carry on.”_ Q laughed explosive.

“Health and Safety, really? What is wrong with MI6?” He taunted the man. Bond just growled, of course. “Too easy, 007… too easy…”

21

Q was doing nothing in particular; the fight now depended on Mummy and bloody James Bond. He knew he was doing nothing worrying; beyond of giving himself an ulcer, but he couldn’t help it. He had a bad feeling about all of this. So far, they didn’t know what the hell Tiago Rodriguez was trying to get out of all this. The Overlord of Q-Branch opened one eye, when he heard the door to his Mummy’s office opened.

“You look like hell, uncle Gareth…” Q told his godfather. He was all battered and with one arm on a sling.

“As blunt as always, Quinn. So, you are the new Q?” Mallory didn’t want to imagine how desperate Olivia was, to get his youngest as “Q” in this particular clusterfuck.

“Well, fat lot of good that did…” Q spun his Mummy’s chair one more time and then stood up and gave it to Gareth.

“I’m not that old.” The man complained.

“I’m not hurt…” He rebuked the man, rolling his eyes.

“Point.” The older man muttered and sat on the comfy chair. They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. “Go and give anything 007 needs, Q.” He ordered the young man.

“Roger that…” Q accepted the orders deadpanned and made a military greeting with two fingers.

Leaving his Mummy’s office he walked with a half-baked headache to the Q-Branch. After that clusterfuck with Silva was over he was going to take a week of vacation and sleep fourteen hours a day and play videogames until his fingers chafed. He felt like the bloody director of the Academy Awards. He decided to take a detour and make tea, but his cell phone went off, changing his plans. Apparently something was happening and as always, Q-Branch didn’t seem to be able to function without the Queen-Bee. He needed to sleep, or for Sherlock to stop writing him about bees… because when he began to compare himself with them, something was seriously wrong.

He arrived to Q-Branch and they didn’t disappoint. Everyone was being as useless as they could; only looking at the chase in small groups, instead of trying to do something about it.

“Get me tea.” He ordered one of his baby-interns, the girl nodded and ran to search for his fuel, while he reached for his throne and began to put order to the situation. Everything was in chaos, they didn’t know where Silva was and apparently M has been kidnaped. Luckily he knew that Bond had his Mummy, and speaking of the devil… he thought when the computer got a lock on the car.

 _“Q? I need help.”_ The voice left the receiver.

“I'm tracking the car. Where are you going?” Q asked flabbergasted that route made no sense to him at all. 

 _“I've got M.”_ Bond notified him.

 _‘No shit…’_ What was with bond and stating the obvious?

_“We're about to disappear.”_

“What?” He asked startled, nobody told him anything about ‘disappearing’ anywhere! Of course Bond just ignored his question.

 _“I need you to lay a trail of breadcrumbs impossible to follow for anyone except Silva.”_ Bond explained what he wanted Q to do. _“Think you can do it?”_

Q looked back, because he got what Bond was trying to do. Gods… he was going to get his Mummy killed, the bastard. He leaned to the speakers and talked in a lower voice.

“I'm guessing this isn't strictly official…” Now _he_ was the one stating the obvious.

 _“Not even remotely.”_ Bond… the careless bastard. He was always as cool as a cucumber. _Consequences be damned._

The Agent was lucky uncle Gareth cleared him to do anything Bond requested, it didn’t matter how irrational said request was. It seemed that he was taking too long to answer, because suddenly M voice filtered through.

 _“Do what he says Q!”_ Q heard his mother barking at Bond’s earpiece.

“So much for my promising career in espionage.” He muttered resigned, sipping tea as if the world was not crumbling in pieces around him.

_“Do you want to know what the bloody hell is going to happen to your ‘promising career in espionage’ if you don’t do what we say, Q?”_

_“For god’s sake M! Would you stop yelling in my ear?”_ Bond complained loudly.

“Whatever, I will send a copy of the trail to your cell phone; I recommend you put them in Plane Mode, unless you want for this super-secret ‘Plan’ of yours to epically fail…”

 _“Q…”_ M’s voice came alive on the receiver with an odd inflection.

“Ma’am?” He answered fearing the _‘goodbye’._

 _“If something happens, don’t bother Siger…”_ Bloody hell, she was going to die and there was nothing one could do about it. He stayed silent. _“Take care of my pets, I guess they are yours now…”_

“I only have one pet and her name is Scheherazade, come back and take care of your bloody pets yourself.” The only answer he got, before the connection was cut, was a snort.

22

He had dismissed everybody in Q-Branch. Everybody was exhausted and they were doing nothing there. Only Tanner was with him drinking water like if he drank enough of the liquid, everything was going to be fine.

Without stopping making the trail, he got closer to Tanner and took the water away from the man, before his bladder exploded.

“It's a fine line.” He told him for the sake of giving Tanner something else to do other than drinking water, letting the bottle on the table and returning to the breadcrumb. “Make the breadcrumb too small and he might miss it.” He slapped Tanner on the back of his hand, when he tried to grab the bottle again. “Too big and Silva will smell a rat.”

“But do you even think Silva will be able to spot that?” Tanner asked looking at the big screen, which he didn’t understand a thing of what Q was doing with the computer. It was everything so convoluted; he didn’t like it at all.

“He's the only one who could.” Q admitted to the man, almost smiling. Tanner looked back and blanched.

“Sir.” Tanner said like the MI6 deer caught in the spotlight. Q also looked back.

“Oh.” Q stated, feeling like caught in flagrante delicto. Tanner… _the idiot,_ Q had permission to do this, but his mannerisms were making _him_ feel guilty.

“What are you doing?” Gareth asked curious. He wanted to know what outraged thing Bond had asked of Q and if Q was able to lie.

“We're just… monitoring.” He tried to give his uncle ‘plausible deniability’.

Gareth didn’t sigh, but he wanted to. Q was still a terrible liar.

“Creating a false tracking signal for Silva to follow.” He answered his own question after looking at the big screen.

“Well, sir, um… well, no.” _FAIL._

“Excellent thinking. Get him isolated, send him on the A9. It's the direct route. You can monitor his progress more accurately and confirm it with the traffic cameras.” Mallory perfected the plan for them. It was the least he could do for Olivia.

“But what if the PM finds out?” Q asked frowning, so much for plausible deniability.

“Then we're all buggered.” He said not giving a single fuck. “Carry on.” And with those words he went away.

“Has he always been like that?”

“Pretty much.” Q answered Tanner, sipping again from his now cold tea. “Leave the bloody bottle alone.” The younger man snapped at Tanner, Tanner did everything, but jump startled and look sheepish.

TBC


	6. Q vs 007

23

Q was filling paperwork digitally, when one of the minions showed its head over the screen and was going to call for their Overlord, but Q beat her to the punch.

“Yes, Julia?” Q asked the woman without looking. Julia opened her mouth to ask how the hell did he knew who was going to speak, if nobody had said anything. She decided it was better not to say anything.

“M wants so speak with you, sir.” She informed him. “He is in line four.”

Q had a headset on his head, so he just typed a line of code in his computer and the call was rerouted to his station.

“Sir?”

 _“Come to my office. Like, Now.”_ No platitudes, no beating around the bush; not inquiring about his cat or his non-existent love life. His uncle’s voice was curt and hinged, he sounded a little bit short of breath. Something horrible had just happened.

Q stood up from his station, after taking the headset away and pulling his baton out of his pocket, he went to the middle column to the middle row and put the baton on a woman’s shoulder, which made her bounce, scared; thinking she was just going to be electrocuted; Q was _that_ insane. She was innocent! She swore to her life! Well… ok, maybe someone had ratted her out and told Q, she was the one that finished the last of Earl Grey and didn’t shoot herself out of MI6 to buy more.

Danielle had looked at her with pity, knowing her sin; when Q stormed Q-Branch in a mood without any tea in his hands. Q looked weird, without the Q10 mug in his hand. They learned that day that Q hated English Breakfast, _badly._

“By the power invested in me, I dub thee; from now on: ‘S’. Kneel a peasant and rise a knight. You have the con, Gregory.” Q told the new ‘S’. Everybody was gaping. The new ‘S’ stopped Q, before he could go away from her.

“Sir…”

“I couldn’t care less if you are a horse, Gregory. You can dress like a Sailor Scout for all the fuck I give.” Q told the new S frankly, whom he knew was a cross-dresser and a pretty one _she_ was, too. All Q-Branch (and Eve Moneypenny, whom was the foreign princess, attaché to the Realm of Q-Branch) enjoyed greatly when the all the male agents flirted with _Her._ Q-members would snigger and the agents would ask why they were so giddy, but they wouldn’t budge and answer. The agents just kept doing it. It was most entertaining and Georgina always loved the attention. ”Mind the ship, until R or I, come back.”

Everybody watched how Q left, Q-Branch.

“Do you think he would go out with me?” _Gregory_ or Georgina how everybody actually knew her, asked to nobody in particular, smitten.

“He turned down, _004._ Georgina, she is like the fairest of the Kingdom.” Julia told Georgina, rolling her eyes.

“She is right, besides; he just likes your programming.” A bespectacled, dark skinned minion huffed, jealous.

“Half of the work done.” Georgina told them dreamily. She was not wrong, a lot of people thought. Q’s respect depended on your Position of Power or… you knowledge of electronics, in general and the former was sometimes shaky, if you annoyed him too much.

“Did you grow a vagina when we weren’t looking?” Danielle asked worried. Georgina had asked for holidays not so long ago. A lot of things could happen in two weeks, after all.

“He is Bi, he is so Bi; I just want to rip all his clothes off and worship that lithe body of his for a few hours.” A lot of people agreed. “And maybe feed him a few cakes.” She loved skinny people, but sometimes Q would reach the point of looking at bit anorexic, of course; when that happened Moneypenny and R would come to Q-Branch waging siege, and the weight would be recovered in a few days of stuffing, but anyway…

“Sorry to burst your bubble.” Anne, Q’s favourite and only baby-minion spoke. She was a friend of Q, which caused that everybody paid her attention. “You would have to best: 004, 0016, 0015, 0012 (whom actually knows of computers). 006 _and_ 007.” Everybody gasped at the mention of the last 00 Agent. “Not only that. You have to pass through: Tanner, M and _Moneypenny_ to even think about _it…_ ”

“A bird can dream…”  

“I feel bad for Sebastian, though.” Danielle told everybody, half-sad.

“He was a spy! He ratted us out to M! He deserved what he got!” The jealous minion from before defamed the former ‘S’ irate. Most of the minions and the interns nodded in agreement with the bespectacled, dark skinned young man.

“Well, you are right… I still feel bad. I have that conversation recorded, though.” Everybody perked up. “I’m selling it for a week off.” Everybody squashed Danielle trying to buy.

“You wouldn’t have the R&D and Communications battle, would you?”

“I’m still searching, I’m still searching…” She admitted to the minion who asked.

When Q returned to Q-Branch everybody gasped. Q was ghastly white, his eyes watery; he was stumbling while walking and he looked like a ghost just visited him. The minions and the interns tried to do something, they even called medical, but Q just locked himself into a closet and nobody heard anything else. 

23.5

Moneypenny entered her new office followed not so far behind by Bond. She took her coat off and walked to the big desk, smiling widely to Bond. The phone rang five seconds after, breaking the moment.

“Yeah?”

_“Miss Moneypenny?”_

“You’re one of Q’s minions, aren’t you?” She asked the girl animatedly. Bond arched an eyebrow and looked at the woman curious. “Or are you a baby-intern?” Eve changed when the girl didn’t answer immediately.

_“I’m a baby-intern, ma’am.”_

“I see, well, what can I do for you that Q can’t two times better?” She covered the receiver and talked to Bond. “I’m sorry; I really need to take this.”

“Don’t worry about me.” James told Moneypenny and took a seat.

_“Ma’am… we are worried about Q… R told us to let him be. But he just locked himself in a chemical storage closet and had been there for hours…”_

“What?”

 _“He hasn’t even drunk Earl Grey and he wasn’t looking that well, ma’am.”_ The baby-intern stuttered for a moment, like if she didn’t know if tell her something. _“I-I think I saw him crying...”_

“And R isn’t worried?” Moneypenny asked flabbergasted. James wanted to know what the hell was happening, now.

 _“Well, Ma’am… if you believe the gossip: it seems that new M gave Q the day, but he refused to go home.”_ Eve now was worried. Mallory was trying to send Q home? _“OH GOD! Is he sick? Is he dying!?”_

“He isn’t sick and he isn’t dying…” James stood up and was going to take the receiver to know what the hell was happening, but Moneypenny didn’t allow it. “And please, don’t tweet that your beloved Overlord is sick. I will appreciate that.”

_“I was trying to get 004, but she isn’t answering.”_

“Don’t call anybody else… I will be down there in five minutes.” She hanged and looked at Bond.

“Who the hell is not sick or dying?” Bond asked blocking her way, so she wouldn’t try and abscond.

“Apparently Mallory tried to give Q the day and now he is sulking and he had locked himself in a closet.”

“Are you joking?”  James asked her astonished. Q didn’t strike him to be an unreasonable person.

“Well, is a damn better option that one where something is actually wrong!” She snapped at him and began to run to Q-Branch. Bond muttered ‘Women’ and began to run behind Moneypenny.

24

“Q. I know that was insensitive and I’m sorry, but you need to disengage the lock and talk to us…”

When Bond and Moneypenny arrived, Mallory was already there with Tanner a step behind, trying to negotiate with Q. Apparently something was horribly wrong.

“Is he even able to hear me?” M asked one of the minions.

“In theory? Of course, sir.” The minion told him.

“Q, for god’s sake.” _Nothing._

“Q, I’m sorry I tried to drug you and send you to Switzerland, ok?” Tanner tried to apologize for what he did.

“You tried to drug Q?” Tanner blanched when he saw Moneypenny there.

“There is not going to be a funeral, Q; the body got lost. You need to get out of that closet and let us take you to Switzerland until we know Silva won’t pull a Bond and no man of his is a threat anymore.” _Nothing._ “Bloody Hell.” He turned to look at the minion again. “Tell me he is at least breathing inside that room. You have no idea what his father will do to me if something happens to him in my watch…”  

“Get out of my way you useless men…” Moneypenny shoved everybody aside. “Q? Q babe, are you alright there?” Her cell-phone rang. She pulled and read the ID-caller. ‘Q Holmes.’

_“I have puked like four times, but otherwise I’m fine… I have this compound here that neutralizes vomit… it also makes it glow, really pretty.”_

“My baby, get out of that dark closet and let me take to medical. I beg you…” Moneypenny pleaded at the young man really worried.

 _“I don’t want to go to Switzerland; I don’t want to see anybody. Just go away. I’m alive… what else do you want from me?”_ Q strangled half-successful his sobs.

“Can’t you open the bloody door?!” Mallory asked annoyed. The baby-intern whom was the unlucky recipient of the question, shrieked and turned into a quivering mess.

“We are still trying, sir.” One of the minions let M know. “He reversed and used the Polymorphic Engine that Silva used to infiltrate MI6 and this time nobody is in any rush for this to be decoded…” 

“How long does it take to decode?”

“Wi-without Q?” Now the minion stuttered.

“Of course without him! He is locked in a damn closet puking his guts out!”

“Tw-two weeks, maybe more if we are unlucky enough and can’t find the key…”

“Do you need a key?” Moneypenny cut the call, no mattering if Q was saying something important.

“We…”

“How many characters!” She snapped at the minion. 

“Something with maybe eleven letters?” The minion answered fearing Miss Moneypenny was going to eat him alive.

“I think I know that damn key. He’d talked about that before.”

“I’m listening Ma’am…”

“SFH-MH-SH-MEH--“

Everybody looked at the big screen, the key actually unlocked the mechanism and the screen went black.

SnIS RuOy No KnIhT

While everybody was looking at the screen, Bond had actually had the brains to watch what happened with the door when the code unlocked and bingo, the mechanism actually allowed them to enter the closet.

“Q?”

“Oh no… James Bond.” Q groaned, but loud enough for Bond to hear, letting his face fall onto one of the shelves. He felt queasy and wanted to die right now. 007 was the last person he wanted to look at. He was not feeling very rational and in his mind, there was no doubt that James Bloody Bond had killed his mother _and then lost her body_. 

The first thing that Bond noticed was the bucket that contained a coarse liquid that now was glowing blue and he wondered if it was radioactive, the second… Q looked like hell. His usually bright green eyes were dull, if his hair got any messier; it was probably going to turn into hay, his clothes seemed too big for him; he was ashy, and without glasses; he looked even younger.

It came as a shocker when Q pointed a Walther at him. He didn’t even notice that Q was carrying a weapon, which was a fatal mistake and he was already scolding himself for it.

“Q! Don’t you dare to shoot 007! You can’t blame him for this.” Tanner ran to where Q was and took the gun away from him, before Q decided to pull the trigger; after noticing the door actually unlocked and that 007 was already there.

Q sighed annoyed without any strength and let his forehead fell on his palm.

“I hope you die in a fire, 007; metaphorically and literally.” He desired him with his inflectionless voice.

“Can you tell me why in all heavens you tried to shut yourself in here like that?!” Tanner scolded him half-scared, half-mad. Q looked at him with his eyes glassy.

“Actually, my legs just gave up and the Silva mechanism I was testing engaged…” Q confessed still as deadpanned and sickly as five seconds ago.

“You got locked in here, because you couldn’t walk out?” Tanner looked how Q did the ‘More-or-Less’ movement with his right hand. “Were you actually gonna try and shot Bond?”

“Well…” He answered Tanner, feverish. “We will never know, now… will we?” Tanner looked at him with reproach. “You tried to pump me full with Benzodiazepine…” He criticized Tanner annoyed. “What do you think I was going to do? Have a mental breakdown?”

“Q, you will need to yield: or you accept the 24/7 security detail or you go to Switzerland until this gets cleared…” The young man looked at Bill penetratingly.

“Doesn’t MI6 have bigger fishes to fry than to worry about me?” Q asked annoyed, something in Tanner’s eyes must be very revealing for Q. “What? You think Silva is a pawn to another King?”

“Most likely…”

“Gah… do whatever the hell you want. I won’t go to Switzerland and stand _his_ nagging and I refuse 007, you let him five minutes around me and I will poison him and make it look like an accident.” Tanner face was all a poem. “Actually, scratch that… killing James Bond and not taking the credit for it? No way in seven hells…” Q muttered feeling even more miserable than five minutes ago.

“Ergh… can you walk?” Bill decided that it was not wise to press the issue. 

“Do you think I’m sitting here like a damsel in Shakespeare in the Park, because it’s comfortable and I’m admiring the scenery?” Tanner had forgotten how snarky Quintilian was… “You tried to drug me with Benzodiazepine…” Bill flinched. “And partially succeeded!”

“Your brother told us you were resistant to drugs…” Q rolled his eyes. Mycroft, the walrus… Tanner took a step forward with the intentions of taking Q on his arms. “Leave, you pest. I refuse to allow you to carry me like a bloody invalid…”

It was half-funny, half-mortifying when Mallory lost all his patience and refused to keep humouring Q. The new M grabbed the young man and took it to the infirmary himself. This occurrence went down to the MI6’s annals.

“Did Q just tried to kill me?” Bond asked… there was no name for what James Bond was feeling right now.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” Moneypenny asked like an afterthought. “I didn’t, did I? Bloody Hell, must have slipped my mind. I was going to warn you against bothering Q too much. He doesn’t seem to like you that much…” She made him known and Bond frowned even more. “Hell, he was cheering along with the bureaucrats, when you failed the tests. It was after M, well former M talked to him that he toned down his distaste for you.” Bond blinked disoriented. “What did you do to him, by the way?”

“Do to him? To a daddy’s boy like that? Moneypenny he is like 26, I double his age, where the hell could I have known him before…”

“23…” Eve corrected without thinking about it.

“I beg your pardon?” James asked perplexed.

“Q is 23, no 26. Though that you will give you kudos with him…” 

“Are you telling me that he is actually barely legal?”

“He had been allowed to carry a gun since he was seventeen.” Now it was time for Bond’s face to be a poem. “We studied together in the Academy…”

“Now you’re just having on me…” 

“Anyway… stay clear from the Quartermaster, unless you are summoned… you can ask 0014 why.” Eve shifted her curly hair with her manicured hand and smirked at bond as a farewell. “I will go down to Medical. I know how difficult Q can get.” He still couldn’t believe that Moneypenny and Q knew each other that well...

25

James Bond being James Bond disregarded Moneypenny and 0014 (yes, he actually went to ask about the ‘noodle incident’ to 0014) and went to pay a visit to their new Quartermaster whom seemed to be everybody’s new favourite. He entered Q-Branch, the _minions,_ how the other Agents had nobly dubbed Q-Branch members since Q risen to power, scattered in fear when they saw him enter Q-Branch and he was glad that not much had changed in the branch… apparently the disruption of the hive alerted the Queen, because Q-Branch’s benevolent Overlord looked at him with that dispassionate glance that made you want to shake the boy to make him react. 

“You are new here 007, but I don’t tolerate anybody abusing Q-Branch members…” James maybe talked too soon. “This is your only warning…” He warned calmly. “Take it to heart. I hate having to repeat myself.”

“What happened to you? You weren’t such a monster when I met you…” The whole of Q-Branch and assorted agents that since Q’s Reich decided that Q-Branch was actually a nice place to marauder almost had a coronary when Bond called their liege a Monster to his face.

“You had Mummy’s protection. I thought that was painfully clear, 007.” Q told him sanctimoniously sipping tea from the most ridiculous and narcissistic mug Bond had seen in his life. It took a few seconds to sink and connect “Mummy” with “M” and Q noticed when it clicked. “I’m afraid that this new M has yet to pick any favourites so you all are fair game. Did you need something in particular from Q-Branch, 007?” Q asked calmly. Bond had to give it to him, for somebody that had almost successfully killed him after countless failed attempts; he seemed too pleasant for James’ tastes.

“I don’t need anything from Q-Branch.”

“Then what are you doing here? Or did you lose your way and are searching for directions? Because this is the umpteenth time I repeat that I have created an application that you can download to your phones that will tell you where you are and how to go where you want to go. Also to stop going into the tunnels, because the cartography is patchy as hell.” Q made him know, patiently. Bond didn’t know if that patience was faked or not.

“I wanted to speak to you.” He stated plainly.

“Well, mission accomplished 007. I’m sure you are old enough to know where the door is.” The young man pointed him the door behind with the white Q10 mug and then turned back to read the back big screen again.

“Do I know you from before?” James asked ignored the backhanded ‘dismissed’. He was not a dog and he never followed orders. Everybody in Q-Branch got silent in eve of listening to why Q hated 007 so much. Q answered not bothering to look Bond in the face:

“You do. I was seven, so unless you are a paedophile and I’m suffering from retrograde amnesia you can take all your licentious thoughts away from here…” Q tried to dismiss him again. Q sighed when he could still feel 007’s sight drilling a hole in his back. He turned to face the man. “Unless you have an eidetic memory and a recognition software that can shift me to how I look when I was seven, it will be impossible for you to be able to recall the memory back, it was inconsequential and have nothing to do with why I have such a distasteful feelings for you. You are getting in the way and you’re making Q-Branch jittery. Go home and actually put that shoulder to rest…”

“Your concern for me is touching.” Bond drawled sarcasm heavy.

“Hardly. I live my life telling you, you wayward children; to take care of yourselves, despite of my aversion for Cavemen Neanderthals, and if you keep annoying me thus, you will wish you were still with Silva in that Island, so please, remove yourself from my presence, I have work to do.”

James refused to let Q win this battle and any future ones. Who that little twerp thought he was? He had gutted prettier boys than him. 

“So, do you know who my Quartermaster will be?” Bond asked leaning on the table.

Tension could be cut with a knife in Q-Branch.

“You are talking to your Quartermaster, 007. I’m afraid we raffled you and the winner had a stroke and threatened with quitting.” Bond was impressed. He had never before found a worthy _contendant,_ besides M… or he supposed she was Olivia now. “So unless you want to pass the rest of your life benched, do not test me, given that I now also handle the missions’ assignments, because M cannot be bothered with it.” 007 didn’t twitch a muscle, Q pulled his baton out and Bond should have known that thing would be a weapon in Q’s hands. Quintilian put it in the lowest setting and poked the blond with it. The Agent jumped back, startled. “Would you like me to speak to you in French? I hear you are quite receptive to the language.” Bond wanted to growl at the veiled implications. “The next time the setting I will poke you with will the highest and in your bad shoulder, be a dear and go away, I really need to get back to work.”

“James, unless you are planning starting a war with Q, can you return later? We really need to deploy 002 and with you here, we are never going to accomplish that.” Rose pleaded him on the verge of desperation.

“I’m glad you’re alive, R.” Bond didn’t know if the woman had survived the bombing, but he was glad she did.

“Likewise, 007. Please?” Rose was resorting to bat her lashes at him and trying to look as much as a defenceless damsel in distress as she could.

Bond felt like a pushover, because he was unable to say _no_ to a pretty woman. Q seemed to notice that fact and 007 could almost see his cogs working on how to utilize such knowledge to his advantage. He wondered for a whole two seconds which was Moneypenny’s price. He felt in his gut that he would be needing information about the enigmatic Quartermaster.

TBC


	7. Missions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on, this story is mostly a big glob of self-indulgence, so you might or might not like how I develop it. You have been warned.
> 
> :D have a nice day, dears.

26

James was watching the scenery, the dusk was close by and everything was blustering with life. It was quite calming for him, to observe the chaos that was London on rush hour. He looked to his side when Tanner appeared out of nowhere beside him.

“Tanner?” Bond asked confused.

“Heard you put in a mood to our new Overlord…”

“Did Mallory hear about that?” James asked masking the flinch, the only order the man had given him was not to aggravate the Quartermaster of MI6. 

“No… and we are planning on keeping it that way.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

_“Moneypenny.”_

“Won’t the ‘little prince’ tattle?” He mocked sardonic, quoting with his fingers.

“Who? Q?” Tanner snorted. “No, he can be a lot of things, but the last thing it will cross his mind is going and complain to Mallory.”

“You seemed to be aware he was actually going to pull the trigger.” Bill shifted uncomfortable, at Bond’s words. “Did I thank you for that? I don’t think I have been in shock like that before…”

“Look James, I will be frank with you, honouring our many years of friendship, but let Q be. I might be joking when I tell you that he will kill you and we will never find out about your murder, but if he decides to actually kill you, and he is not very mentally stable right now. He has high probabilities of getting away with it…” Bond snorted, disregarding Tanner’s words.

“Please, Bill. You will have better luck threatening me with a teddy bear.”

“Look, do what you want with my words, I know you can take care of yourself, just remember that hurting Q physically will get you to the gutter and he will push _that_ far.”

“So you’re just worried about Q?” He accused feeling his temper flaring.

“Oh for god’s sake, Bond! Don’t be a stubborn bugger! If you are going to hurt Q, don’t let anybody know you did it and make sure that you have scared him enough so he can’t tell on you, because you are our damn best agent and I will be damned if England lose you over this!” Tanner was panting a little when he finished his speech; Bond on the other hand was speechless.

“Duly noted.” It was the only thing Bond could say to _that._

27

Bond had been summoned to Q-Branch. It has been a simply text message asking him to come at his earliest convenience, but he had the feeling that Q wrote that message and that he actually meant that he should leave everything he was doing and go to MI6. As you might imagine he did the exact opposite. He returned to sleep and when he woke up again he lazed around and he even had the gall to go and pick his dry cleaning. It surprised everybody in the store, but now he didn’t have anything else to do and he was actually curios as to why he was being called.

He arrived at Q-Branch and everything was as it always was, including Q in his Throne with the same clothes he had worn yesterday and maybe even the day before that.

“007, just in time.” He heard Q talking when he spotted. “Rejoice.” He made him know. “You have been deployed.” Bond regretted all the time he wasted doing nothing after Q told him they were actually going to let him return to the field. James finished walking to Q’s table. The young Quartermaster gave him a similar portable suitcase like before; when he opened a new Walked PPK and a radio were inside like last time. “Here is your new gun, lose it 007 and you will pay it with your blood, I don’t have space in my budget for giving you a new gun every single time.” Bond just cocked an eyebrow, pulling the gun out and sliding it in his holster and then he looked at the radio, it was different; this one had a mini screen. “This is not a distress-bacon. You will use this device to get us into the target’s computer, use the slider to reveal the USB adapter and try not to blow anything up. Here are all your papers.” Q handed him a yellow A4 envelope. “Godspeed, 007.”

“That’s all?” He asked flabbergasted.

“I beg your pardon?” Q asked puzzled for a few seconds.

“Are you not going to actually debrief me on the mission?” He always wished that Boothroyd, god rested his soul was brief with his de _brief_ ings, but this was ridiculous.

“What for?” Q seemed genuinely confused. “You are to go to Argentina, plug the USB and return to England. End of the mission.” He listed like if he was writing a telegraph.

“What are the missions’ parameters? What is the final goal? Who is this criminal?”

“Irrelevant. Rest assured that I don’t accept nor work with any job that smells like shady government settlements and the man we are targeting is a well-known criminal, but we are not attempting to capture, just gain information. You have all the pertinent information in an encrypted mail on your phone. You are dismissed, Bond.” And with those words, Q turned his attention to one of his baby-interns. 

“Aren’t you going to even give me an earpiece?” Bond asked sarcastically. Q turned back again, sighing aggravated.

“What for? You will only ‘conveniently’ lose it if it serves your selfish purposes. You have your phone, don’t you? Trust me; it will work just as well.” Q was going to turn back again when he seemed to remember something. “Let your Bluetooth, Wi-Fi and GPS on, though.”

That was the drop that overflowed the glass, it seemed. Bond went around the table with all the intention of inflicting physical pain at the Quartermaster. 

“Listen, you little…!”

“007 you better not be thinking of grabbing me by my lapels, we are all civilized people here. If you want an earpiece that much then I will give it to you, you don’t need to resort to violence to make your point.” Everybody had made a feint to stand up, and everybody that had a minimum chance of restraining Bond; was already halfway there, the same moment 007 seemed ready to attack Q. “Anne.” Q called the intern he was talking before Bond lost all his patience, ignoring everybody’s reactions. He could feel his own heart in his throat, but he would first cut his own tongue that giving Bond any satisfaction, besides, if Bond hurt him in such a public place, daddy would just have him deported in a drop of a hat. “Be a dear and get me a wireless earpiece, NC-25 and one NC-20.”

“O-of course, sir.” She bowed quickly and went away.

“Any other whim I can cater, 007?” Q asked defiantly, looking directly to the man’s icy eyes.

“You can begin by telling me who the hell is auspicating this mission and who is the criminal we are targeting and why.” He demanded without any drop of patience left in his body.

“I’m sorry, it just seemed like you just tried to order me to do something. I’m quite sure I actually outrank you, but you are free to take your complaints to M and we have a very efficient system of complaints you can fill. I will give you a tablet, so you can do so on your way there. And you might want to hurry; your plane leaves any moment from now. Shame, really… that wouldn’t have happened have you decided to be here, instead of picking your dry cleaning.” He smiled and then turned to receive the earpieces from his baby-minion, he liked her a lot.

“Did you just say you were following me around?” Now, that was crossing the line and he didn’t have any compulsion on go to Mallory and bitch about that breach of privacy and use every single trick he knew to make Q’s life hell.  

“M wanted to know what was taking you so long, he assumed something happened when you were not here nagging him to be allowed to be deployed earlier.” Q shrugged uninterested.  “Use the darkest one in the night and the lightest in the morning for the camouflage to be most effective. Be sure to return them in a working state.” He explained, giving the agent the earpieces.

“You could have fucking told me, you were going to deploy me, you sanctimonious bastard.” Bond snatched the earpieces from the Quartermaster’s hand, making the intern (and Q, more discretely) bounce startled. James noticed two of the most ‘buffed’ men in Q-Branch were close by, in case he actually decided to physically attack the Quartermaster.

“Bond. You made your bed; now you have to lie in it.” Bond was grinding his teeth. “I apologize though. It was not my intention to keep the information from you.” He was actually being sincere. “I never thought you were going to be an actual infant about it. I won’t make the same mistake twice, rest assured of it. Good luck, 007.”

28

Q was sitting on his table as usual, with his Q10 mug in his left hand and the right on his mouse. He was just messing around with nothing else important to do. He was a bit bored and he didn’t welcome that ‘bored’ state. He didn’t want to have time to think, but he worked eighteen hours a day, barely resting… he was bound to catch up with the work eventually. He knew it would be momentarily. Three 00s were currently deployed and there were plenty of ‘A’ agents that always needed help, calm didn’t last in a agency that lived in DEFCON three, permanently.

_“Q-Branch, this is 007 do you copy?”_ James Bond’s voiced suddenly surged from the speakers.

“This is Q, 007. What can I do for you?” Q asked professionally.

_“Are you sure you sent me to the right place? This place is desolated and full of dust.”_

“Is there a computer?”

_“Well, yes…”_ Bond admitted.

“Then you are in the correct place. I never said there were going to be people around.”

_“Of course not, you didn’t say anything at all.”_ He reproached at the infant.

“Holding grudges does not become of you, 007.” Q made Bond knows, taking a sip of his tea.

_“Yes, because I’m the one holding grudges…”_ Bond grunted while you could hear rustling as background noise.

“Do you want an apology for having pointed a gun at you? My, so sensible Mr Bond… I’m sorry that I hurt your very delicate sensibilities when I pointed with my gun while I was drugged and raving…” Q apologized with the same bored drawl he always seemed to talk with. Bond thought he had never received such a fake apology before.

_“Your voice makes me want to punch you in the face.”_

“Duly noted, 007. Would you not be such a difficult person, you would have been able to pick your own Quartermaster, just like the other agents, but alas! Nobody is willing to put with you and I don’t actually have a choice.” That hurt Bond, but he just stayed deadly silent, which probably gave him away, anyway. Fortunately Q didn’t seem to have said that with the intention of hurting him, but merely stating a fact. “Did you call for something specific, or are you simply calling to annoy me?” 

_“I thought I was in the wrong place.”_

“You are not.”

_“Well, I know that now, genius!”_

“Touchy, touchy 007.” Q drawled while reading a Wikipedia article in Esperanto and laughing internally at the inaccuracy. 

_“Why am I even doing this mission? Did all MI6 ‘A’ agents are being used?”_

“I’m afraid you are restricted to these missions until the PM gives you green light, 007.”

_“Excuse me?”_

Q sighed. He was hoping for Bond to never catch up with the fact that he was being sent in ‘A’ grade missions for the foreseeable future. He was betting on the man’s skill to turn everything into a clusterfuck, thus not noticing the ‘A’ _bit_.

“I am afraid that the Silva Debacle made you a liability, 007.” Q drank a big gulp of tea. “You didn’t only lose the encrypted driver that cost dozens of lives and went MIA on purpose to get drunk and high. You actually were instrumental in Silva’s plans to kill the former M, that without taking into consideration that your assessment is in the minimum passable. Seventy point five over one hundred points, if you are interested.” He explained looking at the _real_ assessment in his computer. Sixty five and that was rounding the fifty decimals, better than the former forty something, though. He had changed the scores and blackmailed the assessor to keep his thoughts to himself.

Mummy had given him all her pets… now they were his responsibility. He hated people doing that, first Sherlock with Watson and now he had to oversee the wellbeing of over twenty people.

_“So, Moneypenny shoots me and now I’m a liability?”_

“I’m not your psychologist, 007.” He curtly stopped the man there. He was not going to be Bond’s handkerchief on top of everything.

_“Oh Q… I would never mistake you for one.”_ He kicked something that sounded like a door by the goings of the situation. _“Bloody Politicians…”_  Q sighed and plugged a headset. It was the least thing he could do for the man, even if he hated him. 

“You need to change tactics 007, Mummy is not here anymore and I don’t see this new M tolerating your insubordination.” He advised the man, while opening the world tracking system and locating Bond. He looked at the red dot moving, bored.

_“I appreciate your advice, but please, you can shove it right where the sun doesn’t shine.”_

“So crass, 007. You can turn right and you won’t actually have to shoot your way in…” The quartermaster made 007 know, even if he was not asked any input.

_“I think I will keep going this way. The last time you tried go guide me anywhere, I was almost run over by a train.”_

“Whatever, I don’t know why I even bother. You are going to run straight into a wall of solid concrete, good luck demolishing that with a nine millimetre…”

_“Damn it!”_ Bond cursed to the seven hells, for the sound of it; he also kicked the concrete wall. 

“You should meditate…” Q recommended 007, distracted. “All that pent-up anger…” He followed that train of thought. “Can’t be good for your health, 007.”

_“You shut up in this moment Q, or I swear that when I get back I will take you to hell and let you there until you cannot scream anymore.”_ If Bond thought he was being scary, he didn’t know his daddy.

“Dull…” Q drawled rolling his eyes, channelling Sherlock. “Do I have to remind you are the one whom called and then persisted in the conversation?”

_“Just shut up. What was the bloody door you told me?”_

“I feel the need of being petty and leave you to your own devices 007, but I won’t. Retrace your steps approximately twenty metres, the second door to your left, now… I guess. Unless you can walk normally with your back turned.” He huffed, drinking more tea.

_“So, would you know how long this ‘probatory missions’ will last?”_

“Would you like me to be honest or to make you feel good?”

_“Q!”_

“Fine… geez, what temper…” Q complained. “They might be planning, for the smell of it; to drive you to retire.” The young man made him know stretching his torso and then he returned to his former position. The one his mother was always complaining and always warning him about a hump.

_“The hell they will. You don’t retire a 00 Agent.”_

“Again 007. I’m not your psychologist.”

Silence followed for a whole five minutes and Q was not in a hurry to break such tranquillity.

_“Bloody hell.”_ Bond voiced sounding like he was disconcerted by what he was looking at.

“Now what?”

_“I have not even a remote idea where the hell you need to plug this thing…”_

“Oh come on, 007. I know I joke about how you are useless with computers, but it’s just plugging a USB pin, there is no science on it.”

_“You don’t get it. This is a server room; I have never seen so many cables in my life, together.”_

“It doesn’t matter where you plug it 007, just plug it.” Q urged Bond, rolling his eyes.

_“What I mean, you perpetual pain in my arse; there is no USB port where I can plug the pin!”_

“Well, that’s quite vexing…” 

_“Is that a stock phrase I hear?”_

“Bugger…” Q cursed profoundly annoyed. “I knew I shouldn’t have left those incompetents of communications do the recon. This is the last straw. From this moment on Communications and R&D are going to be deferring to me or I will be raising hell.” 

_“That solves me problem how?”_

“You will have to arm yourself with patience Bond, because I will need to take you through a very delicate process.”

_“Will it kill you to board a bloody plane and do this shit yourself? I promise to keep your pretty arse, safe.”_

“Keep my arse out of your concupiscent mind and said arse stays in Q-Branch unless the apocalypse is coming, which then it just renders the point moot.”

_“God! I can’t bloody believe this. I thought Moneypenny was just having me on when she told me you didn’t like to fly.”_ He was freezing his balls off in the Patagonia and he was in a small village in the middle of nowhere. Not conductive for his good humour

“I don’t know why Moneypenny would say such thing to you of all people, but she was not wrong…” He admitted resigned.

_“How did you get to the Quartermaster position, again?”_ Bond haunted with annoyance.

“If you are so interested: Nepotism.” He barked back.

_“Of course, I should have known.”_ Q could feel Bond rolling his eyes. _“Have you thought about this revolutionary idea called ‘resigning’? I know such novel concept.”_ Bond’s words were like caustic bullets dripping with sarcasm. Q just sighed.

“007 why must you force me to abuse you, thus? I am not the one the _powers-that-be_ are desperately trying to get rid of…” Q stood on the rails of his chair and not-shouted. “People of Q-Branch!” Everybody looked at their Overlord. “I need a volunteer to go to Argentina…” Q-Branch was ready to lift their hands. “And aid 007.” Everybody now tried to abscond. “I will be there every single step of the way and you will be on light duty as long as you think the trauma of working with 007 will last.” Now everybody lifted their hands, again. “It seems we have a lot of voluntaries, 007. Do you have a preference?”

_“Shut the fuck up, Q.”_ Bond growled being able to listen to everything Q was saying. He didn’t need to be present in Q-Branch to know the minions’ reactions.

“Have I offended you again, 007?” Q mocked smugly. “I’m terribly sorry.” He apologized insincerely again. “You will have a member of Q-Branch with you tomorrow. I want that person in one piece and with their integrity intact. Try to sleep with said person, if that person results being a woman and I will sue you for harassment, I don’t care how much willingness and consent there was. Keep your paws to yourself. Try to keep the place in one piece in the meanwhile, 007.” He warned the man. “I have a set of RPG dices in my bag, who wants to battle for the honour of expending quality time with James Bond?” Q offered a fair way of winning the _dubious_ honour of being James Bond companion.

James was doing his best to not grind his teeth. The damn infant didn’t even bother to cut the connection. His only comfort was that the little bitch was winning when his minions forced him to play too, but in the decisive match he threw the game so blatant, the winner had asked for a rematch that was never granted. Dictatorship indeed.

29

_The Good Doctor is not doing well… –QH_

_I noticed. –EH._  
 _Are you going to tell Sherlock? –EH_

_Is that a rhetoric question? –QH._

_It was an honest to god question. –EH_

_He is going to bloody ask me to interfere with the Good Doctor *in person* Merlin. I’m not that much of a saint. Not even for Sherlock. –QH_

_Are you trying to get *me* to interfere *in person* instead? –EH_

_I don’t know what the hell I’m trying to do by talking to you… –QH_

_Have you talked with somebody about Mummy’s death? –EH_

_No. –QH_

_I sense a disturbance in the force, Luke. –EH_

_I’m not going to go and commit suicide if that’s what you all are worried about. –QH_

_I know you’re not trying to take your life, Q. Please, be a little more considerate. –EH_

_You are channelling Mycroft. Don’t do that. –QH_

_Will it kill you to check on Doctor Watson? –EH_

_And say what? I’m the bloody carbon copy of Sherlock Holmes; he is going to break down on me! –QH_

_And you wanted *me* to go? At least you have green eyes! I have Sherlock’s eyes! –EH_

_I think those eyes were mummy’s first, Merlin. –QH_

_Can’t you alert the Inspector, what was his name? –EH_

_Lestrade? Or something… I only remember that pest of Anderson. –QH_

_Everybody knows of Anderson, Q. I don’t think I have seen before somebody that Sherlock detests more and that includes his tutor. –EH_

_And say what? This is Sherlock Holmes’ brother, no I’m not Mycroft… and I wanted to tell you that you might want to put one Doctor John Watson, formerly captain; under suicide watch? GENIUS! –QH_

_That bad? –EH_

_He can barely walk with that limp of his. –QH_  
 _And he stayed all day like a lump on Sherlock’s couch. –QH_

The last message was sent like an afterthought.

_Can’t Mycroft sent him back to active duty? –EH_

_Bloody hell, Mer! That’s pure genius! –QH_

_Sherlock might kill you, tho. –EH_  
 _I think the idea was to keep the Good Doctor in 221B until Sherlock was able to come back. -EH_

_Well, I can speak with uncle Gareth and make him a contract as a MI6 outsourcing operative… –QH_  
 _Maybe just a MI6 doctor? He does is a genius in his field. –QH_

_So, you are going to be *Q* indefinitely? –EH_

_Is that disapprovement I read in your words, Merlin? –QH_

_Yes, this is your older brother talking. Excuse me while I go to exorcise myself. –EH_

_Yes, I will be Q for the foreseeable future. –QH_

_Have you talked to daddy about this? –EH_

_He knows. Hasn’t said a word, what else do you want? –QH_

_That Silva bloke was not working alone. –EH_

_Tell me something I don’t know… –QH_

_He is alive –EH_

_Are you fucking kidding me? –QH_

_You cannot say anything. I can tell you because you are like me, but you will take this to your grave. –EH_

_Can you stop telling me these things? –QH_

_“The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'” –EH_

_Quoting Sherlock’s favourite Shakespeare play this late at night make you sound like an idiot. Is this your subtle way of telling me that there is some nefarious plot that is threatening England? –QH_

_Do you think Arthur is here vacationing? Of course there is. –EH_

_Please, refrain from speaking of the Pendragon brute in my presence. –QH_

_Point is that Mummy was only the beginning and I’m not that keen on losing you this early in the game. –EH_

_I’m just the computer boffin; nobody is going to come for me. Must you all be so paranoid? –QH_

_You are the key to this new world of technology and electricity, Quintilian. –EH_

_Don’t call me Quintilian, Emrys. –QH_

_Denial will only take you so far, Q. –EH_

_I’m not in denial. I’m quite aware of what I can do, but I’m not the only one that can do this. –QH_

_I refuse to play your silly games, Q. Have good night, little brother. –EH_

Q let the cell-phone slid softly to the floor while he looked at the dark ceiling from his mother’s couch where he was sprawled. He was only dressed in black briefs and every single hair in his body was in a standing position, because it was cold as hell, but he couldn’t be bothered to put clothes in his body or light the chimney. He closed his eyes and put the palm of his hand on his forehead. The headache was killing him and no matter how much ibuprofen he took, it didn’t seem to pass.

The last text message that was displayed in the screen of the modified Samsung read like this:

_Watch out for that blond Agent. He could be you most valuable ally or your most horrible nightmare –MP_

Some days Q wished he could shield himself behind his age. He was only almost 24 years old, he should be in college drinking his stupidity away and failing his classes. Not being forced to be MI6 Quartermaster and keeping MI6 afloat, because his mother thought it was a good idea to bequeath him all the 00 Agents, because, let’s be honest… without the 00 Agents doing the dirty work, England would have fallen years ago. He wondered if this time the 00 Agents would be enough to face what it was coming for them. 

He turned his chest to the cushions and picked his phone again.

_I think Doctor Watson is trying to kill himself. –QH_

The answer to his text was almost immediate.

_Indeed? Make him so drunk that he can’t think and then take him to a dungeon. I know a few dominatrices that would love to impale Doctor Watson’s lovely arse. –IA_

_I was thinking more on the lines of asking Mycroft to reactivate him again in the army… –QH_

_Or that could also work –IA_  
 _I think he needs to get laid, though –IA_

_I’m afraid there is where I draw the line, not much a procurer, you see… -QH_

_Going to tell Sherlock? –IA_

_Do you think I should? –QH_

_Not on your life, my dear. –IA_  
 _I have this wonderful idea: why don’t you talk to him and tell him Sherlock actually have a family that gives a damn about him and by extension JW. I know! What a crazy thought! –IA_

_Sarcasm doesn’t become you, my dear. –QH_

_Talk to him. *You.* That walrus you call your brother is a useless lump. I’ll cut my arm betting that he is the one that pushed him into that depression. MH wouldn’t know comfort even if it hit him in the face with a block. –IA_

_Where are you? –QH_

_Where Sherlock left me when he rescued me… –IA_

_I feel the need to be tied down. –QH_

_My, my… I’m afraid that now I am just a simple interior decorator, Q. –IA_

_I wish you and Morgana wouldn’t have tried to pull one over Uther, you stupid women! –QH_

_Don’t whine, pet. Hadn’t Moriarty gotten his mittens all over, we would have won. –IA_

_And you wanting to flog my brother didn’t influence your willingness at all. –QH_

_Why indeed, one of you wasn’t enough. I’m a greedy, greedy girl. –IA_

_You only make everything worse. –QH_

_I can give you a friend’s number. She will take good care of you. –IA_  
 _Quartermaster of MI6. I can feel the pressure on your shoulders all the way from here –IA_

_You are not supposed to know that. –QH_

_Oops! ;) –IA_  
 _Talk to John. I don’t like him either, but we must sacrifice for those who we do actually like –IA_

_My head is going to explode. –QH_

_8081 2571. Catherina. Snog the bitch for me. –IA_

_My father is going to kill me. –QH_

_Not if you pay with cash. –IA_

_Security detail 24/7 –QH_

_7928 1617. Mikaela. She will pass any background check and play pretend to be your maid. You only have to be quiet, shame, you whimpers get me all hot and bothered –IA_

_I cannot cause a scandal, not right now, especially not so soon after Mummy’s death. –QH_

_Here is another crazy idea: find a girlfriend (or boyfriend). –IA_

_Great idea, my dear! I can’t tell her my name or my surname or where I work or the fact that I work eighteen hours on a good day! –QH_

Frustration could be read in every word.

_Please Q. Do yourself a fucking favour and call Mikaela. I will even talk to her and explain the situation. Sherlock will kill me if I leave you like this. –IA_

_We will see.–QH  
He might kill you anyway for enabling me like this. 'Double Standards' that's S's second name. –QH_

TBC


	8. Enter John Watson

30

Q exited the black car and ordered his security detail to stay outside the house. The two A agents weren’t happy, but they didn’t make any fuss. It was a good thing that all 00s were busy, because 0019 and 002 were not as easily derailed. He walked to the door that read on bold, silver letters: 221B and knocked three times, waiting patiently. 

“Yes?” An elderly woman answered the door. He supposed she was ‘Mrs Hudson’. Curious, Sherlock was so in love with that old lady and he had never bothered to introduce her, at least to him. But then again they never did anything together since everybody flew the nest, so to speak. 

“I am here to speak with former Captain John Hamish Watson…” Q made the old woman all solemn and official. Why not play the part, right? 

“Oh dear!” Mrs Hudson feared the worst when she saw the official looking folder in his arms. “Is John is trouble?” 

“No.” Q admitted at the old lady, deadpanned. 

“O-Oh… well. You’re really lucky, today is his free day. You might have to wait a bit, though…”

“I will wait whatever time is necessary.” 

“Of course, of course… please, come in.” She ushered him inside and lead him to Sherlock’s favourite couch. “You can wait on the couch while I go and search for John.” She smiled a little strained and somewhat with dramatics, but clearly natural movements; she went to the stairs with the mission of warning John that somebody was there waiting for him.  

Taking a seat on his brother’s couch, Q began to wait for Doctor Watson to be somewhat presentable to receive unexpected visits. He didn’t have to wait much, which was good. While ‘A’ agents were not 00, they weren’t known for their patience, either. 

The man appeared in front of him worse for wear; he was extremely photographic if he looked so deteriorated in person. The Good Doctor was pale, underweighted and deep dark circles could be spotted under his eyes. Q wanted to wince at every painful step the Good Doctor tried to give and his right arm shook so bad it looked like butchered Parkinson. 

“You’re the bloke searching for me?” John asked him weary. 

“I heard you recently lost your job, Doctor Watson.” Q went straight to the point. 

“Bugger, you are here on Mycroft’s orders, aren’t you?” John couldn’t be blamed for thinking that, his older brother was extremely meddlesome. Only his wife seemed to stand his meddle and that was because she was actually the same. 

“I know him, but no. I am here on behalf of M to offer you a job.” That should give him all the clues, he was a former Army and after living with Sherlock for so long, he would know what the “M” stood for. 

“What?” The Army doctor asked confused. “M? Who is this ‘M’ and why would I work for him?” Of course, he was always overestimating people; it was a good thing that in this case; he was not the only one. 

“I’m afraid that grief has addled your brain Dr Watson.” Q stood up and standing in front of the blond man, he showed him the folder in his arm. John’s eyes opened so wide that Q thought for a moment they were going to pop out of their sockets.

“SIS?” He asked with little voice. “MI6?” He said instead with shaky voice, looking at Q directly to his eyes.

“I don’t have much time and my _security_ gets jittery if they can’t have me on their periphery. In that folder you will find everything you need to know about the job. This offer doesn’t have a deadline per se, but it will be most appreciated if you give your answer as soon as possible.”

“I… fuck; I need to think about this…” John cursed feeling that his life was again being turned upside-down.

“Understandable. We will be in contact Doctor Watson. Have a nice day…” And not wanting to stay here more time than strictly necessary, he departed.

John stood there reading the first sheet of the folder, until a hand startled him out of it.  

“John?” Mrs Hudson called the man, worried. 

“They are offering to reactivate me as a medical agent.”  

“That’s good, right?” 

“I don’t know?” 

“I recommend you meditate this offer with your pillow tonight, young man.” Mrs Hudson didn’t know what else to tell the Good Doctor. She didn’t want to lose him, especially to such a hard job as it would certainly be being a government Agent, but he was so miserable in that flat without Sherlock, it was pitiful, really. 

“You’re right… I’m sorry Mrs Hudson, but I need air…” 

“Of course, of course dear… be careful outside, ok?” 

Nobody noticed how Watson’s arm stopped shaking the moment he picked that folder.   

31

Everything looked like a photo that was overexposed. Q could feel the free falling sensation in all his body. Everything smelled like new faux leather, recycled oxygen and charred metal.

_“I don’t care! Shoot the turbine, agent!”_ His mother’s voice could be heard from the speakers.

“But ma’am! Your son!”

_“Did I stutter? You don’t let those sunnavabitches get away from that plane! Do you know how many people have they killed?!”_

Alarms were flaring everywhere and fires exploded at random intervals. He felt sick and for a moment he thought gravity didn’t exist anymore around him. He sobbed. Nobody was paying attention anymore to the small child that caused the clusterfuck in the first place. He just had his eyes closed so hard it hurt and his little hands were on his ears, while he made himself as small as possible, waiting for the imminent crash that was upon them…

Q opened his eyes. It was a good thing that he was not a thrasher. Nightmares never manifested in bodily reactions beyond a few harsh turns. He let out a shaky breath and decided to sit on the bed. He always had that nightmare; it was just random flashes of the whole moment, sometimes it wasn’t even the ‘nightmarish’ part. It would be hours before or after. 

He decided to stand and go to the kitchen, when he arrived to his destination he didn’t even bother to turn on the lights and poured water in the electric kettle, he heard a mewl and felt Scheherazade rubbing on his uncovered calf. 

“Did I disturb you, my dear?” He asked his pale grey British shorthair cat, taking her in his arms. He rubbed his face on her soft fur. “I apologize for doing so, your highness. I know you need your minimum eight hours of sleep.” The cat mewled and rubbed her head with his master affectionately and very un-cat like, unless you were any other person which would only get you a very nasty scratch where she could paw you. “Want a cup of Earl Grey, darling? To the hell with the vets, it hasn’t killed you yet, after so many years.”

He made the tea and served some of it in the cat’s bowl. Q didn’t know if it was that she was drinking his tea since they were both very young and it was simply a habit, or if she actually liked Earl Grey as much as he did.

“Another cloudy night in London.” Q told to nobody sipping his tea and watching the sky. He took his sight to the microwave clock, 3:54 and ticking. He turned back when he felt Scheherazade run to far end of the kitchen. He looked at his cat, how she pushed the button that would dispend her food, if a minimum of four hours had passed. It seemed like cats had an awesome sense of time, because the food was allowed to come down. 

When Q entered college, at the tender age of seven; he discovered that he would have to give his pet to a loving family or watch her die. He was unwilling to do any of those things, because he loved that cat and the one that Sherlock killed when he was four years old. So he expended a whole summer automatizing everything that Scheherazade could need. He made that machine that gave her food and another one that could be connected to a fridge with water exit so it would always refill the container when it was empty. He even programmed some robot mousses, stealing the skeleton AI of those good-for-nothing Roombas, so they leave their ‘hiding place’ and entertain her. Of course, he had altered so much that AI that they by now had developed a ‘Mind-Hive’ that creeped his mother out. 

After the tea was consumed, Q didn’t even bother returning to sleep. Instead he went to the bathroom and prepared himself to return to MI6. It was not like he had anything else to do. He was ready in twenty minutes and when he was grabbing his laptop and his bag, somebody spoke to him. 

“Don’t you fucking sleep, Q?” 

The Quartermaster turned around deeply spooked. He had his heart in his throat.

“Jesus 006 if I wasn’t aware of how dangerous it would be for you I would saddle you with a bell.”  

“Did I scare you, little Q?” 006 asked him with a wicked smile lit by the moonlight. Q would have bothered to answer that question if 006’s life mission was not to startle him every time there was an opening to do so. “Where are you going at this ungodly hour?”  
  
“MI6.” Q revealed as emotionless as usual. 

“What? Why the hell did you even leave?” 

“Excellent question, 006. I will give you two reasons: Moneypenny and Mallory.” 006 seemed even more confused. “I pretend to leave for home when Mallory begins to give me _that_ pointed look.”

“Christ, boffin.” Alec huffed astounded. “Don’t you have anybody to get laid with?” 

“Why? Are you offering?” He rebuked closing the zip of the bag that protected his laptop and hang it on his shoulder, walking to the door. 

“I only have sex with women, unless you’re a mark.” 006 explained. “But I’m honoured. I heard you dumped 004.  

“Pity…” He stopped and turned back looking over his lashed at 006. “I would have let you tie me and call me a whore.” That made 006 choke with his own drool. 

“James is right, you do are a dipshit.”

“Why 006? You aren’t into a little domination? I would even go into my knees and beg for you.” 

“I’m not comfortable with restraining people and ordering what to do while having sex, that’s more James’ gig.” He purposefully mentioned his friend, knowing it would push the right buttons on Q. It didn’t flare Q’s temper as he expected, but then again it was Mr Emotionless whom they were talking about. Instead Q just snorted and opened the door. 

“Typical of 007, the marking of an insecure man, needing to reassure his alpha-macho role in society by inflicting himself in others… I bet he is one of that people that hit and doesn’t stay around to at least help clean the mess. Bloody awful Dom, he would be.”   

“That’s harsh, you know shit of James.” 

“My sincerest apologies, Trevelyan.” He offered immediately, remembering with whom he was talking about. “I forgot for a moment you were James Bond’s friend. You are right, I know nothing of James Bond, sadly, _007_ is another matter altogether.” He finished closing everything. 006 was a silent shadow beside him. “Do I have permission to stop a cab or there is something in the bodyguard’s code that forbids it?” 

“I’m here for your sake, you ungrateful bastard, you could at least turn down the snark.”

“Do you know how it’s called what you are doing right now, 006? It’s quite simple and at the same time interesting of witnessing it. It is a psychological process called ‘Identification’. You don’t even notice that you are doing it. It’s called ‘Partial Identification and Empathy.’ It’s a reflexive defensive mechanism.”   

Alec would be damned, but that was exactly what he was doing. He just went and called for a cab, before something regrettable happened.

32

Q was inspecting his nails, which were getting extremely long for his tastes when he felt 007’s presence. He ignored said presence and returned to his computer. 

“You know that I know that you know I’m here.” Bond snorted amused. 

“Indeed, this is just me trying to make a point.” Q pointed out straightening his glasses, without deigning to look at the man. 

“Give me a mission.” 007 demanded. 

Q glanced at the man trying to pour into his face how much of a nuisance he was. The Quartermaster looked at the envelope on his desk and grabbed said envelope and crashed into James’ forehead. 

“You can go and do that and leave me alone, 007.” 

Bond looked at the Quartermaster with extreme distrust and opened the envelope pulling the A4 sheets. 

Lecture:  
NATIONAL SECURITY AND ANTI-TERRORISM  
Dpt. Press and Propaganda

MISSION OBJECTIVES:  
To inform the adolescent citizens about the threats the United Kingdom is currently facing and offering minimum training on Anti-Terrorism action. 

MISSION BUDGET:  
1, 000, 000, 00 £ 

COVERAGE:  
United Kingdom’s schools (UK)

NECESSITIES:  
Seventy (70) or more rotary agents, capable of dealing with the public to travel around the UK to impart the lectures.

[…]

He didn’t know if the damn infant was pranking him or not, but he’d rather drive himself crazy in his hotel room than go and talk to a bunch of teenagers about National Security. He would most likely ending killing someone. 

“Very funny, Q.”

Q stopped doing whatever he was going and actually paid attention to the older man. Q smirked resting his left cheek on his left fist while the elbow was on the table. 

“Have you heard the adagio that says that beggars can’t be choosers?” 

“I meant a real mission.” 

“As opposed to what?” He asked cocking an eyebrow. “Is this not a mission? These are the future of our nation, 007.” 

“I would love to see you doing this…”

“I’m sorry 007, but I’m not a field agent nor am I capacitated to deal with the public.” Q bounced back. “Although I can see how this can be torture for you. Nobody in there is legal enough to sleep with you.” 

“Please, Q. Fourteen, and you are ready to go.”   

“Please don’t tell me that too much, 007… from you I’m willing to believe anything.” 

“Sleeping with jailbait is dreadful, Q.” James told him confidently, leaning in the table with his arm. “They are whining and clinging and don’t even last to the _punch.”_

“Wouldn’t know, never received any complaints, as I told 004 I stopped being a prostitute when daddy found out I was selling my body to politicians.” James snickered and actually looked at the Quartermaster. 

“You are a whore as much as I’m a saint, Quartermaster.” The chaotic agent made him know, like sharing a secret. 

“I don’t know 007, you strike me as a man whom has martyrdom honed to perfection.” Quintilian shifted to fill the space between them. “And I started rather young.” 

“Um~ sir?” Q’s favourite baby-minion, Anne interrupted them. She looked like she wanted to be everywhere, but there. 

“Yes, Anne?” The young man stopped trying to invade the 00 Agent’s personal space and turned to look at the petite raven haired woman. 

“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you, but Communications and R&D just signed the retreat and they are willing to negotiate the terms of surrender.”

“What marvellous news, Anne.” He smiled to his baby-minion with affection. “Excuse me, 007, I’m afraid our diatribe will have to be postponed, I have a war to win.” 

Bond looked how his Quartermaster departed with his baby-minion one step behind like a good subject, with his eyebrow arched. 

“It was carnage, 007!” One of Q’s senior minions told him. Everybody shivered. “There was no mercy and there was a decree about forbidding taking hostages, all targets were eliminated and the innocents, oh those poor interns that acted bravely as cannon-fodder.”   

“Ah.” A scene returned to his head and suddenly _it_ made sense. “Those agents that were crying in the bathroom yesterday?” He asked, not knowing if laugh or stay in his perpetual state of confusion that began since Q took the leadership of Q-Branch.

“They came as spies 007… Q slaughtered them and sent their figurative heads back to Communications. That was when M came and told them that they had one hour to solve the issue or there would be consequences. It was a five hour conference at closed doors. The feed of that epic battle was erased, at eight o’clock of this morning they decided to retreat to safety and now they have surrendered.”

“What is this? MI6 or a high-fantasy novel?”

“Now that you mention it, sir.” Another minion told him. “M had a very similar query.”  

“I need scotch.” Bond murmured beginning to fall into despair.

“Q has opened what we dubbed the ’00-Crises’. You can find any type of liquor you want and it’s encoded so only the 00 Agents can get to it.” A dark skinned bespectacled minion spoke, calling his attention. 

“Are you for real?” 

“Dead serious. Beware of the blue liquid, though. We heard it made 0016 a mess and he descends from Vikings. But then again he is Q’s default guinea-pig for everything our Master creates.” 

“You seriously call Q ‘Your Master’?” 

007 snorted incredulous.

“I’m his most faithful servant and pupil, sir. German of Q-Branch!” The minion introduced himself, proudly.

“He is just special…” Danielle informed him, so the agent wouldn’t get any weird ideas. “He was a baby-intern when Q was hired and began to terrorize everybody.”  

TBC


	9. Brimstone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got a BETA, her name is YanYan, but I'm not sure she's got an account here. Cheers girl! So I guess any remaining horrors in this story is completely my fault. Enjoy.

33

Q was sleeping in his bed, because one idiot in R&D made a mess that ended with him having an ugly bump on his head and let’s face it, Mallory was always searching for any excuse to send him home to rest, only, this time he had medical to back him up… it’s not like he had a concussion or anything. His always faithful laptop was a few centimetres away from his face and he had his left hand resting on the keyboard.

The screen that was in save-mode turned on; seemingly out of nowhere. Q groaned a little and opened one eye to see why there was so much light in his face. That was because the screen was suddenly all white with a phrase written with black, Time New Romans font with a triangle was over the phrase. Q grabbed his glasses and read, curious: 

_“I lay the sins of the parents upon their children; the entire family is affected—even children in the third and fourth generations of those who reject me.…”_   
_Deuteronomy 5:9_

The Quartermaster of MI6 frowned and tried to exit the screen, but of course, he couldn’t.

“And I bet you did it from an MI6 computer, just because you could.” Q muttered annoyed, under his breath, to avoid calling the attention of his watch dogs. “Now, are you really Silva or new pawn?” The young man grabbed the cable and unplugged it and then he pulled the battery and waited until the memory wiped itself. When he was able to turn the computer back on again, no trace of the program could be found or tracked. Again, the same thing with Silva, it was as if it hadn’t existed.

He let himself fall on his back, and stared at the ceiling that was half-lit by the street lights.

“I wonder if I am going to end like Mummy… dying alone with a bullet in my back.” He mumbled with the back of his hand resting on his forehead.

Sherrinford had his family, Mycroft also had his family, plus England; Sherlock had the devotion of Irene and John, gained and bounded by blood; Merlin had a frightening amount of friends ready to die for him and the Pendragon’s all for himself. What did he have? His computers and Scheherazade and while his computers were alive for him, because he saw and understood the world through binary, a sane human being wouldn’t count them as having ‘someone’, even if Q could hear his technology howling at his despair; it only served to aggravated the wound.

The youngest Holmes pondered the merits of escaping by the window to have a few hours to himself. He would swear that sometimes he felt that, since he began to work in MI6, he didn’t have a single moment where he was not surrounded by _people;_ he could smell the people on him, now. Q-Branch Members, Interns, Agents, Mallory, Tanner… _Eve._ One day they were going to follow him to the bathroom!

He decided against it, that night he had a 00; the oldest 00 in existence. It was quite ironic, but 001 had more years of services than James Bond, with the added bonus that the man was not as reckless and pedantic or rebellious as the infamous 007, and yet he was not as well known or talked about.

“Don’t you know the word sleep, son?” _Speak of the devil._

“Don’t you have enemies to kill, women to seduce or citizens to save?” Q asked the man with a croak, turning to look at him.

001 was big… buffed like all the 00 men, broad shoulders, peaking pectorals; long, defined legs that looked like they were made of stones. Straight salt and pepper, spiked hair; a perpetual stubborn stubble, warm brown chocolate eyes, a killer smile and was over twenty years older than Q… in other words: Q’s type.

He had never had sex with a peer, and he didn’t even want to. So far, the closest thing he had to it was Eve Moneypenny and she was good ten years older than him… one day after the academy, they had been so drunk, she almost bit his dick off while trying to get him off and then she passed out, he wasn’t sure how they weren’t mugged or how they arrived home safely, but they were still there when they woke up. She had apologized the next morning with her bleary, hung-over eyes, because she didn’t remember what they did, which was nothing, but that’s beside the point.

All of his fumbles (that could honestly be counted with one hand) had been women and men like the one in front of him and they could always be summed up in one word: _Powerful._ He always got weak in the knees in front of powerful people and in this time and age where people didn’t understand that money didn’t equal to power, he knew that _personal prowess_ was the embodiment of powerfulness.  

He was always curious as to what Freud would have to say about that. He had taken some psychology classes and was aware that his preferences probably steamed from the fact he had a perceived inability of being powerful in his own right, having been overshadowed all his life by his four older brothers that could pull the Alpha-Male role perfectly. Yes, even Merlin whom was a girl most of the time. It had been drilled in since his birth that he was the weakest link, the one to be protected. In terms of the power dynamics of his family he would probably be the omega.

He supposed that on a subconscious level that kind of upbringing resulted in such a hit to his ‘by social convention’ masculinity that he now couldn’t deal with it in a healthy way. But, if you wanted the truth, he always thought that Psychology was hokum.

“I’m ensuring that one of England’s most important assets doesn’t get killed in his sleep. I consider myself served.” He answered Q’s question as level-headed as always. Actually, he was the only one whom returned when asked and who as a result, didn’t want to kill Q the first time they met.

“Rest assured 001, nobody is going to kill me…”

“Yet.” The agent amended Q’s statement. “You are the Quartermaster. I know you are not as naïve as to think you will not create enemies along your way.”

“You already saw I’m alive and unharmed, would you mind leaving me alone?” 

“What woke you?” 001 ignored Q’s plead/order and went to the point instead. “I came here two hours ago and you were deep asleep.”

“It’s none of your business, but I know your kind. I slept with my fingers on the track pad and I’m a light sleeper, the screen returned to active mood after my fingers twitched. Would you like a polygraph to go with that statement?” Q drawled bored.

“Good night, son.” He then turned and closed the door.

001 was as impassible as Mycroft, it unnerved him a little.

34

Q was so immersed in the text in front of him that he didn’t even notice when 007 got behind him until he began to read out loud over his shoulder.

“… for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God…” Q barely had any time to black out the screen and glare daggers at the nosy agent. 

“Excuse me 007, I know your manners are appalling, but do try to pretend you are not actually a rabid wolf.” The agent smirked darkly.

“Didn’t peg you for a Catholic.”

“007, we have talked about this: who I am or what I am not is none of your business.” To get the agent out of his hair he gave him an envelope. “Here, take your new mission and go away or you can go and bother Moneypenny, I heard she is more complacent when you are concerned; the shooting business and all.” Instead of taking the paper Bond placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, boxing him in. Q could feel their breath mingling together. “Is there any point on you invading my personal space, 007?” He asked while looking, for the first time, at James Bond, eye to eye.

His mind immediately provided him with the exact RGB hue and Hexadecimal colour to describe those icy pools of blue water. You’d be better off trying to beat your head against a concrete wall, than to try to read something in those eyes, so very opposite of his own. He was sure that 007 was able to read his entire history with just a glance, his blue eyes seemed stare right through him and turn all his into smoke. 

“I see your bump is getting better.”

“Please 007, I beg you, liberate me from your presence.” Q _was_ definitely _not begging._ Bond _begged_ to differ, though.

“I don’t think I have ever seen eyes as green as yours…”

“Thank you. Now. Please. _Leave.”_

“So you do now how to take a compliment,” Bond mocked him, “I was beginning to worry.”

“I feel a deep urge to cry right now, 007. Is that your purpose?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare… that might put 004 on my trail…”

“Goodbye 007.” Q dismissed the man, without having any patience left in him to deal with the man.

“What? No kiss goodbye?”

It was a damn unfortunate time for the members of Q-Branch to return from lunch break, because their Overlord decided in that moment to reach for 007’s face and kiss him on the lips. It was just their closed lids pushed together, hardly a proper kiss, but it served his purpose, because James Bond looked as shocked as the people currently in Q-Branch.

“Is that what you wanted?” Q asked after leaving Bond’s lips. “Well, now there is nothing holding you here… Goodbye, 007.”  And with those words he returned to work on his computer.

He did not reflect on the fact that Bond’s lips were like a mixture of brimstone and fire and the theory that said that if Hell existed and was always in expansion, said place would be artic cold. Cold Fire… paradoxical onto itself.

35

“I come to request for the security to be removed. It’s obvious that nothing is going to happen.” Q told Mallory when he was granted access to the man’s office.

“We have not found anything so far…” Mallory told Q patiently.

“Here is an idea uncle Gareth.” He changed tactics because he was tired. “Maybe there is not _anything.”_

“Somebody stole, not only Olivia’s body, but possibly Silva’s as well since it was nowhere to be seen when the backup agents arrived at Skyfall.”

“And that makes me a target?” He asked flabbergasted. “Have you met my brothers?”

“I have…” He admitted resigned.

“And you think I’m the one who people are going to come and kill?”

“All senior personal…”

“… have an escort. One of them! An outsourcing company deals with the security, you don’t assign two bloody 00s when you have the luxury to do so, to one person! And they don’t enter your room every two hours to check if you are actually sleeping. Can you spell harassment?” Q complained on finally at his wits end. “Hell, they just _escort_ you when you are outside. They do not invade every single aspect of your life and live in your house!”

“Q… your dad…” M tried, that was a bad move.

“What, are you telling me you have me under heavy watch, because my father told you that he wanted me under surveillance?”

“The Queen…”

“Are you kidding me? Igraine Pendragon is also on this?”

_“Q.”_ He tried to stop the rant.

“No. You don’t get to mess with my life like this.”

“Quantum…”

“Bond got rid of bloody Quantum!” Q snapped, with his eyes getting even greener. “You cannot keep using Quantum against me, because you think I’m an unknown variable!” Quintilian accused them even if only Mallory was there. “What do you think? That Quantum is going to come one night and kidnap me? Or that I will tattle when they do?” Mallory winced. “What was the point of getting me in the Academy? I didn’t pass Conditional Torture by my charms and good looks!”

“Q, the security will stay and I will let you bitch at me, because I know you are a teenager and you can’t stand the fact that you have no privacy, but right now, I need to attend other matters. Given that you are here, you are to go with Bond to Cheltenham and investigate. Apparently there is a suspected building that suddenly got abandoned, after Sherlock Holmes made a move in Ulaanbaatar. They tried to get rid of the paper trail, but I doubt they achieved to clean the place completely.”

“I will go, just not with 007.”

“You are his Quartermaster and this is a direct order. I don’t know what the hell is going through your brain. I heard you kissed Bond and on the lips, to add insult to injure.”

“He was being a nuisance.” Q tried to defend himself without letting himself be intimidated. He had forgotten about that. He just did it to make bloody 007 leave him alone.

“I don’t care. Don’t do that again.” He threatened his Godchild. “007 is not a man to be trifled with and you know that.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”  Q interrupted, shrugging. It’s not like it was going to work again and Bond might get frisky.

“But you need to learn to work with Bond, or keep your thoughts to yourself.” That order didn’t seem to set well with Q and Mallory noticed. “You must know he _didn’t_ kill Olivia.”

“Trust me, uncle. Mummy’s death is only a small part of a long list of why I don’t want 007 around.”

“You are right now acting as Bond’s assessor, so until a suitable replacement can be found, you are to work with Bond and keep an eye on his progress. I know you upped his scores again.” Q arched an eyebrow. “I sign everything, before anything gets entered in system Q. Must you be so complicated? Why did you up his scores, again?”

“I wasn’t in agreement with the psychologist and it is within my capacities to actually give my opinion.”  

“You threatened him.”

“I _blackmailed_ him.” Q differentiated as if it was any better. “He is having an interoffice affair and he is married, has two children and depends on his wife to keep his ‘social status.’ Yes, I did, sue me.”

“Why go through so much trouble for a man you clearly hate and already tried to kill?”

“I don’t see you scolding me about the time I went to 004’s house and took care of her when she caught mono as a result of the poisoning stint.”

“Brief Bond on the mission and stop mingling with the 00 Agents. I will not tell you this again.”

Q picked up the mission folder with swift motions and left the room, refusing to throw a temper-tantrum. He couldn’t exit the office, though; something was blocking the door.

“Quintilian Holmes.” Mallory’s next appointment greeted him. 

“Ma’am.” Q tilted his head curtly.

“I didn’t know you were working with MI6. Weren’t you with GCHQ?”

“That was until Major Boothroyd was killed and I was called to take his place.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be taking Q-Branch?”

“You can take your concerns to M, chancellor. Excuse me, as you must infer by me being Q, I’m extremely busy.”

36

Q was thinking how much trouble Milena Strakosha was going to cause him this time. She was a nuisance and was always trying to send him back to school, telling everybody that he was too young. He was fuming inside, the issue with his age had already reached the point where his patience was null.

It was pure luck that Q crossed paths with 007, really. He definitively wasn’t looking for the man, but it was better to strike hot and the faster he finished with that mission, the faster he could return to ignoring the agent. The man was dressed in sport clothes and seemed to be returning from the gym.

“We are going to Cheltenham, 007.” Who had time for platitudes in this day and age?

“Who is ‘we’, Q?” Bond asked him arching an eyebrow.

“You and I.” He debriefed dispassionately. “Would you rather drive a BMW or an Audi?” Bond seemed confused. “I don’t know how to drive, and you won’t let me anyway, so why bother?”

“Whichever is fine.”

“This shouldn’t take long. Would you like to go today or tomorrow?”

“Meet me in the parking lot in two hours.”

“I will send you a text giving you the car’s location. Are we going to need a GPS?”

“We are going to Cheltenham, Q. No Afghanistan…”

“My apologies, 007. I forgot with whom I was talking to.” 

With nothing left to do, Q went to return to Q-Branch to prepare for the mission.

**TBC**


	10. Cheltenham

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of curiosity... should I keep updating this?

37

They arrived to Cheltenham without much trouble. Traffic with Q’s set of skills was never an issue and the environment was not particularly cold or hot, so all in all; it was a very pleasant trip. So of course, when they arrived at the city and after prowling around for a whole twenty minutes, it tipped Q that maybe he should pull out the GPS, Bond told him they wouldn’t need, but he packed anyway.

“You don’t have a single ounce of idea of where we are, do you?” Q asked annoyed.

“Of course I do…” 007 dismissed Q words immediately.

“Uhu…” Q looked 007 cross the same small square for the third time. “007, I’m not sure if you are aware of this, but I have eidetic memory and this is the third time you cross this road.”

“Your point, know-it-all?”

“Let me pull out the GPS!” He demanded at his 00 Agent.

“I don’t need a bloody GPS!” Bond refused stubbornly.

“Yes, you do, you stubborn Neanderthal!” Q looked to the windshield and spoke ironically: “Oh look! We are again where we began!” 

“We are fine! Just play with your silly phone and let me drive.” 007 hushed him like if Q was a seven year old. Q decided to be the bigger man and ignore the jib at his age.

“Look, if you distrust technology this much, at least be smart and ask for directions!” He almost pleaded the stubborn agent.

“I don’t need directions!” Bond growled at the younger-man, startling him. Q thought for a moment that 007 was going to hit him.

“We are never going to find the stupid building…” Q admitted defeat putting his elbow besides the window and his cheek in his fist, before something that would end in blood for him, happened.

“Just shut the hell up and let the actual _field agent_ work.”

Q snorted, but didn’t actually try to antagonize the agent any longer.

38

When they arrived to the building, which was on a cul-du-sac, Q was fuming and 007 was a cool as always, even if they both knew the man wouldn’t just accept he was as lost as anything could be. Q got out the automobile in harsh movements and went to the trunk. James simply followed the Quartermaster putting his dark shades, to cover his eyes from the harsh sun that suddenly was peaking in between the clouds.

“One hour 007, one hour…”

“Did you have anything else to do?” James asked nonchalantly. “I took you road-tripping…”

To be able to arrive to their destination, Q had to call an application in his mobile and began to guide the stubborn agent after verbally fighting him for almost ten minutes; eventually James Bond conceded defeat and let Q tell him where he had to go.

“I can definitively find better things to do than being stuck in a car for a whole hour with you.” Q ignored the agent and began to pull the equipment from the trunk.

“That hurt, Q.”

“Keep it like that you will lose more than your feelings.”

“I’m quivering in fear…” James snickered with his eyes glimmering behind his glasses.

“You should… do you have any idea on how automatized your life is in general?”

Q and 007 looked at each other for a whole minute. Neither of them blinked nor moved their eyes. In the end Q rolled his eyes and returned to pull the equipment out of the car. 

“Do you need help with any of that?” James asked Q, lowering his glasses. The suitcases looked, both of them; heavy for the scrawny body of the Quartermaster. Q turned back and looked at the agent with suspicious eyes. “What?” He asked defensively. “I’m not going to do anything to it.”

“Are you sure? Because if you are planning something this childish; we are going to have to wait for somebody to bring a replacement.” Q explained to James. “And then that would send Mallory on a fit.”

“Do you want help or not?”

“Knock yourself out…” He shrugged, picking from the back of the car the last suitcase, which was a bag-back.

“How safe is this mission?”

“You mean: will you be able to shoot something?”

“You make it sound like if I live for explosions…” James snorted picking the suitcases that held the equipment.

“I won’t deign myself to answer that. And to answer your question: I dearly hope not.”

“Why do you need so much rubbish?”

“Do I tell you how to do your job, 007?” Q asked impassible as always looking at his watch and walking towards the building.

“No.” He admitted, defeated; following Q. He hated when the damn know-it-all threw those curves.

“Then grant me the same kindness and let me do mine.”

They entered the building, which was completely desolate and your ears howled, because of the silence. The place was really inconspicuous; nobody would have suspected terrorist activity in such building. It was like a normal residential building, with apartment and all.

“You can leave the equipment right where you are, 007.”

“Excuse me?” They were in the lobby. What could possible Q be searching there?

“I really, really do hate to repeat myself, 007.” Q reminded the agent pulling some machinery from one of the suitcases and then after the machine was turned on, Q began to look at the screen, while aiming to different spots.

“So what’s the plan?” James asked looking at the apparatus askance.

“Not so sure…” Q mumbled loud enough for 007 to hear. “I’m afraid I’m diving in a bit blind here.” James was a bit surprised by the answer, but decided to let it rest and just follow the child around, in case he needed to do something drastic, like shooting someone in the head.

“If I ask you what the hell that machine does and how do you do to read that in binary, would you answer me?”

“Nope.” Q admitted quite cheery. James rolled his eyes.

“So, how was studding at the Academy while seventeen?” He nagged for bits of the child’s personal life, instead. Q seemed to have a system and what he deemed unimportant, which nonsense; there was no such thing as ‘unimportant information’. He would give it away without a second thought.

“I graduated in a year, before that I had already been the cause of the expulsion of two of my peers because of the bullying that while unsuccessful; was extremely grating and sixth months into the Academy one pair tried to rape me, I guess; but Eve Moneypenny intervened and never got anywhere.”

“You and Moneypenny were together in the Academy?” James asked flabbergasted, remembering that Eve had told him something about that before.

“We didn’t graduate together for obvious reasons. But yes.” He admitted shrugging. ”Ah… there you are…” Q mumbled and James could only arch an eyebrow, because the screen was still showing that wash of 0s and 1s.

“Do you seriously can read that when it goes at a velocity that I can barely see?” Bond snorted incredulous.

“Don’t shove us together in the same boat, 007. While I admit that your marksmanship was exquisite, before Eve shot you, my IQ, which cannot be measure by man, makes you a literal caveman.” Q made Bond know, putting the machine back in the suitcase and pulling something else, he closed the valise.

“You say the nicest things, Q.” Of course, Q just rolled his eyes and kept walking towards the lift.

“Move along, Bond. We don’t have all day.”

“Do you even fit in your bed at night?” Bond asked sardonic.

“Pot, Kettle? Mr Bond?” Quintilian criticized the man while unscrewing some screws in the panel to call the lift. “The man whose ego wouldn’t allow him to stop and ask for directions?”

“We are in a mission, Quartermaster. You don’t go asking question to the first stranger you see passing by.”

“Yes, I imagine how Google Maps would have given us away to your imaginary enemies, 007.” Q snorted, mocking the man, actually amused. James had to do his best to stop the twitching in his lower lid.

“You are not infallible.” Bond barked back.

“Far from it.” He admitted immersed in his _apparatus,_ trying to make the lift turn on. “Are you trying to get me to accept my fair share of the guilt for the Silva’s clusterfuck?” Q asked dispassionate. “It was a _calculated_ risk. He would have gotten out, anyway. Nobody sits to meditate while in the middle of a MI6’s high security cell, after selling out several undercover agents, 007…” Q pulled out a big key-ring with several smaller ones, they held lots of different type of electronic keys and picking one with the best fit for the lift’s pad, he grabbed one of his _machines_ and put the key in the hole and _Lo and Behold!_ The lift made a ‘plin!’ sound and opened. “So yeah, I messed out and that got Mummy killed. It won’t get her back, me crying over spilled milk.”

Bond decided not to follow that train of thought. He didn’t want to think too much in his surrogated mother. Q might have let Silva free from MI6, but he was hardly at fault in killing M.

“Isn’t that illegal?” Bond asked instead, after entering the lift and noticing that Q’s key now made the lift work without anything else, but the key.

“Highly. Why? Are you going to arrest me?” Q asked as airy as always.

“Kinky, but no; I prefer my wine more _aged…”_

“Sadly I have to admit you are right down my alley.” He confessed Bond and that moment the lift opened in the same moment, leaving Bond startled.

“For shame, Q.”

“I am quite amused by the fact that nobody seems to believe me when I say I stopped being a prostitute when Daddy found me with a politician.”

 _“Right…”_ Bond decided to say, because Q was not a prostitute, it didn’t matter what the kid said. He decided to point out all the holes in Q’s story, but a presence alerted him. He shoved Q back to the elevator and pulling his gun, he aimed at the threat.

“Woah! Woah!”

“Who the hell are you?! Put your hands where I can see them!” 007 ordered the intruder.

“Damn it, 007!” Q complained. “Would it kill you to be more delicate?” 

“Mate! You the peelers?! I know nuffink!” James only aimed for the head. “Lor' luv a duck! Don’t shoot! I know nuffink! I know nuffink!”

“For god’s sake, 007! It’s just a beggar!” The Quartermaster went to where the agent was and lowered the gun. James just pushed Q back, making Q trip.

“Are you a seer know?!” He scolded the child, aiming the gun again.

“I'm sitting here on me jack jones! I’m innocent!”

“God saves me from the 00-Agents…” Q prayed to the heavens.

“You had to hack your way to get to the lift, Q! How do you think he got here? Um? We are in the last floor!”

“I just didn’t want to climb 21 floors, 007.” And with those words, he pointed with his hand where the stairs were. Bond blinked, noticing the stairs.

“Lad’s right… I get up those buggers dancing bear. Nice Drum and bass to chill!”

“Your grasp on the Queen English is appalling to say the least.” Q looked at the homeless man with distaste.

“No’ ev’ryone can be a pretty bitch like yer. Nail’d one or two like yer in me life.” Bond shot a few centimetres away from the man, startling both, Q and the beggar.

“Get out.” The man didn’t wait for a second time. “And you better pretend you never saw us.”

“Radio rental!You and the pretty bitch!” But with those words he picked his rubbish and ran away from them, before the crazy blond decided to kill him.

“Well, that was… awkward to say the least…” Q spoke calmly, calling the lift again to get the equipment.

“The next time you touch my gun while around an unknown target…” Bond began turning back to look at the Quartermaster whom was picking the suitcase with his most intimidating look. 

“I cannot imagine what you would do, 007. Must you always threaten me? It’s getting old, fast. He was just a beggar…”

“You cannot be this naïve, Q! He could have been waiting for us to kill us.”

“Or he could have been a beggar…which he was...”

“I’m here to protect you!”

 _Yes._ Q thought upset.That was the excuse everybody used: his brothers, his father, his mother… even his uncle Gareth! This is for _your_ own good, we only trying to protect _you_ ; _you_ don’t know what you are talking about; this is not a child’s game…

“I’m half-sick and tired of people trying to protect me and force me to do things for my own good… I’m almost 24, not mentally retarded…”

“You are too young…!” James didn’t have time to end the idea which broke Q properly.

“Not too young for when people just demand of me to fix the unfixable and to recover the unrecoverable! You can’t have it both way!” Q spat at Bond with his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Please a really dedicated twelve year old could do your job.” Bond dismissed pettily.

“Oh really?” Q inhaled deeply to avoid his nose getting runny, because of the tears. “You are right, I once was that twelve year old boy; find me another one, if you think it’s so easy. Or better yet, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and decrypt the damn lift that will take us where we need to go, um? After all, my job is so unserviceable and unnecessary, certainly you in all your might, will have no trouble getting us there!” Q had to stop and take a deep breath to calm himself.

“How hard can it be…?” Bond asked unsure.“The only thing you do is to press a few buttons and it’s done…”

“This… I need to see.” Q mocked sitting on the suitcase that wouldn’t be needed for the job, rubbing his eyes to dispel all the water in his eyes. “Well, go ahead 007. Amaze me.”

James carefully went to where the other suitcase was and looked at everything, after opening it. It was full with thingamabobs that he had no idea for what could be used for. He pulled the apparatus Q used to decode the first lift and he noticed there was no panel to use, actually there was no lift, but Q spoke of a second lift and Q was a lot of things, but he didn’t like to waste time… Bond went to all six doors that made the last floor, but every one of them was a simple wooden door with a normal plain home door locks, locking them.

It took him fifteen minutes of floundering in his mind like a fish out of the water to turn and look at Q, whom was playing airily with his cell phone.

“Are you sure there is an elevator?”

“I don’t know 007.” Q answered the man extremely calm, without stopping looking at the phone. “A very dedicated twelve years old can do it. I don’t know what is taking you so long.”

“I never say that twelve year old would have opened the door in fifteen minutes…” He muttered annoyed.

“I thought you implied such thing, by the grace of only having to press a few buttons…” Q kept taunting the man. “But what do I know? I’m useless, can’t protect myself and I’m also too young, to add injure.”

“Where is the damn lift, Q?”

“No idea 007… apparently, according to all of you; I’m also mentally retarded.”

“We are in a mission!”

“I don’t know about that ‘we’… so far _you_ are on a mission, I’m just a nuisance…” He kept the pettiness. Q learned that skill from Sherlock; if someone could hold a grudge that was him.

“So you are just going to sit there indefinitely?”

“It looks like it, yes.” Q stopped for a moment and then added. “I have booked us in a hotel. It’s too late to go back and we are not going to finish this tonight. I wish I would have the forethought of knowing you were going to pull something like this and nothing would be finished in the allotted time…”

“You say it as if it was my fault.” James barked all defensive. Q snorted trying to contain his laughter.

“I’m still waiting 007. Are you going to finish anytime soon?”

“If you tell me where the bloody lift is, I might be able to do something.” 

“Finding the lift is part of the job.” Q told Bond like a little child.

“Well, I don’t know how to find the lift.”

“And this is my fault how? Put your back into it.” Q chuckled, repeating the phrase he told him when Bond was trapped in the train line.

“Do you want me to put _your_ back into it? Because you are temptingly close this time…” Bond warned the child annoyed.

“Oh 007 wouldn’t want to deprive you from my oh-so-easy job.”

“Are you expecting an apology?” Because Q was going to die, waiting for that one…

“An apology? From a 00-Agent? Why would I waste my time like that?” Q snorted, really amused. “No, I’m expecting for you to find the lift and then work the magic and take us to their _evil hideaway_.”

“There is no lift, Q.” Bond sighed tiredly. He was too old for that shit, especially to keep up with the pettiness of an infant.

Q noticed how Bond’s hand was twitching, wanting to shot everything to see if the elevator would reveal itself, then.

“I’m still surprised you have not shot anything yet. Working on your impulses, 007? I’m quite impressed with you, have a virtual cookie.” When Q finished speaking the word _cookie,_ Bond’s phone rang. Bond looked at his pockets and pulled the phone. When he unlocked it, there was an actual cookie, like a chocolate chip cookie; in his screen, he touched the screen to return to the main screen and suddenly there were a few images with diagrams. He looked at Q. “It seems you have found the lift, go on then… make it work, so I can mock you a bit more, we have time…” Q taunted him looking at him with a smug smirk in his face.

Apparently there was a door, whose door bolt was actually the button to call the lift. He went to the door of the 321 flat and after removing the door bolt, which was a simple metallic circle with a key hole; a more sophisticated mechanism appeared. It was something that looked like a fingerprint lock, but not quite. It was aquamarine green and on top laid a lighter grid.

“There are no cables…” Bond pointed out.

“That’s vexing…”

“Can you come here and do your bloody job?” His patience was getting to its limit and M couldn’t scold him for his actions, after all this clusterfuck exploded.

“Why would I do that? You are perfectly capacitated to do it, you don’t need me.”

Bond growled knowing that he had dug his own grave, but right now he couldn’t do anything else. He grabbed the tweezers looking thingies and put them however he could in the track pad like thingy. When everything was ready, he turned the machine up, it was instantaneous; the black screen wrote a series of 0s and 1s in a light grey colour.

“Are you kidding me? This shit is in binary. How do you use this, it doesn’t have any buttons!” Bond complained.

“I don’t know 007.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“Seeing you suffering like this it’s like music to my soul 007.” Meaning: he didn’t want anything.

“You had your fun, come and actually be useful for something.”

Q and 007 looked at each other, in the end Q just stood up and went to where Bond was. He grabbed the machine and picked the pins from where Bond had put it. Searching for a flathead, he dismounted the tracking pack and then, with a pair of special scissors, he pealed a part of the cables and then mounted the pins. Bond noticed that the screen was now running again with 1s and 0s.

The child was doing nothing. He just looked lost at the screen while having the thing in his hands. In two minutes the pad lighted up and Q used his fingers for depicting some kind of straight lines fractal. The locking mechanism disengaged and Q opened the door, revealing a one sliding door and the lift.

The keypad in the lift only had one button and it didn’t seem to need a key, so they just pressed the button and down they were, which was just stupid because they were in the lobby.

“There is no way to get to the subbasement by the main elevator.” Q answered his unasked question, like reading his mind.

“How do you know that?”

“Does it matter, 007?” He asked again with that emotionless tone that grated in James’ brain. The lift plin-ed again and Q left the lift, before James could do a recon of the place.

“You don’t leave the lift like that again! Do you hear me   Q?” Bond hissed madly, going after the impertinent infant.

“Uhu…” Q ignored the man and went searching for something. 

“I’m serious, Q! What if you activated some kind of trap? I’m here as your damn glorified bodyguard! I can’t protect you if you go running like an idiot by yourself.”

“I grow tired of your nagging, Bond. Lay it down for five seconds, would you?” Q pleaded to the man, pushing the breakers up.”

Everything lighted up; revealing a room with computers, every one of them seemed to be melted.

“So much for not doing a throughout job…” The younger man winced looking at everything.

“Can you even do something with this?” Bond asked moving with his shoes one of the cases.

“Be a dear and cancel our hotel reservation, will you?” The agent had to catch the cell phone startled after Q threw it to him. “We are not going to get out of here anywhere soon.”

“This is melted.”

“Your habit of point the obvious is uncanny, 007.” Q told Bond sardonic, while pulling all the equipment. Bond just went to sit in one of the chairs and sulk.

In five minutes Q had a mini set up. There were three laptops that made one screen and after being turned on, millions of 0s and 1s began to roll in the three screens made one. 

“Why don’t you go and buy tea, 007? You are not going to do anything here.”

“If you wanted tea, you should have brought it with you.” Bond huffed, pettily; knowing he should go and buy the bloody tea, after all the grieve he put them through, unnecessarily.

Q couldn’t bring himself to feel surprise or annoyance, was he really expecting for Bond to leave him alone and bring him tea? The young man snorted barely audible, Bond didn’t know of limits or restrain or when to bloody _give up._

Deciding that it was in their best interest to ignore the agent, he returned to the work at hand. He grabbed one of the melted cases and rolled it to where the mini-setup was. He had to break some of the pieces that had fused together and then he pulled the melted hard drive. It was charred; it would be a miracle if the core was intact.

Bond watched curiously, keeping his distance; how the youngest Quartermaster MI6 had seen in all its years, disarmed one of the charred hard drives. He didn’t know what the hell Q could do with the hardware with the amount of damage he could see from where he was. It seemed that everything that might deter a normal person from accomplish such task, was not important to the young man, before he just kept disassembling the pieces, until only broken fragments of what probably was, metal discs; remained on the floor.

Q grabbed one of the chrome pieces and caressed it, like if it was fine silk. His eyes got lost in the void, like if he was lost in thought or was suddenly travelling to a far, far away place. Eventually Q snapped out of the trance and grabbed one of the many thingamabobs connected to the laptops. The thing looked like a compartmentalized square and was black with red glowing neon lights. He opened the lowest compartment and inside was a circle shaped mould. It was like putting a puzzle together, Q seemed to know, which pieces fit together instinctively. While it was true that every piece of the disk had an indentation that _fit together,_ the Quartermaster only needed to touch the piece to discard it and pick another, or to fit it in the current puzzle. It took a whole good hour for the Quartermaster to finish assembling what ended being four chrome disks. After all was sealed and ready to go, he turned his attention to the laptops.

Q pressed three buttons at the same time on the keyboard and the three screens lost their OS, which was an operative system he had never seen before and everything blacked out and turned to the binary sequence, he saw in the other machine. Q again got that look in his eyes, that look that told Bond, he was _not_ there.

39

Not doing _anything,_ but watching Q work, was the most exhausting thing James had done in his life and that included swimming a hundred kilometres in the Pacific Ocean. He blinked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.Eventually the lights had gone off, exalting James, but Q seemed to be so immersed in his work he didn’t even noticed, and sometimes Q stopped writing altogether, but the information kept scrolling. It was unnerving to watch.Nothing besides _the work_ seemed to be of importance. He looked at his Rolex; Q had been working for eight hours straight in the most uncomfortable position known to man.He could bet his arms without a doubt that Q had not blinked in that time and his eyes were glowing with the blue glow of the screens.

“Q.” Bond called the young man. No answer. “Q.” Again, nothing happened. 007 frowned and walked in three long strides and put a hand on the Quartermaster’s shoulder.

Bond had to use all his training to not jump and begin to shot everything; when after touching the Quartermaster; all the computers in the room turned on and Q straightened still in a trance-like state. The same information appeared in every screen:

A photo of the Quartermaster with maybe twelve to fifteen years was displayed in the upper left corner, beside the photo was a name which was crossed out with black, but that wasn’t what called his attention, but the logo in the digital sheet: QUANTUM.

TBC


	11. Stuck

40

When Q found information about himself there in the driver, his world began to spin madly, because this couldn’t be happening to him _again._ He suspected that Silva was part of Moriarty’s crime ring (if Merlin’s hints were anything to go by). _But Quantum?_ What the hell _Moriarty_ wanted from him? The man was able to create a key to virtually open every safe place in England (and probably it was worldwide). What could possibly he need from him, besides bait? But what use he had now that Sherlock’s was _dead?_ Mycroft would throw it to the wolves, if the man though it would benefit England and so would everyone else, his Mother included. Hell, she had done it before, unsuccessfully, of course. He could sympathize to a certain level with Raoul Silva, but his late Mother was infinite times scarier than any of your run-of-the-mill villains. Besides he would make a piss poor villain and never mind about being a minion. He had never honed the act of following orders.

“Is that _you?”_ Ah, Bond’s uncanny skill to always point the obvious. 

“Did I ever thank you for getting rid of Quantum?” Q asked to agent in a drugged state. 

“Quantum is coming for you?” 

“Was... Quantum is no more.” Q muttered, feeling the annoyance filtering in between his disassociated state. He crouched and began to gather everything, not caring where anything ended. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and leave me the hell alone, Bond?” Q snapped, running his hands through his hairs and then returned to the task of getting everything packed.

When Quintilian finished putting everything in his proper place; a little bit disorganized, because of the hurry. Q grabbed everything and put the implements in the further corner and then he walked to the other side and pulled something out of his pockets.

“Q!”

Before Bond could get to him, Q broke something in two that released something akin to turpentine and then ignited a spark with the same device and everything went up in flames. 

“What the HELL?!”

“You might want to get out of here; this will burn in a few hours, you are welcome to stay here, of course. Two birds, one stone; they say.” And with those words he shoved the hand away and walked to the elevator, which opened without being prompted to. Q got the suitcases in and stood in the middle of the lift, with a strange look in his eyes; something between madness and an angelic smile. 

Bond blinked and in two seconds, he remembered that he wouldn’t be able to call the lift again, unless he had Q with him. He almost didn’t make it. When he was inside, he pulled his gun and grabbed the Quartermaster by his neck. 

“Want to run by me what the hell did you just do or do you prefer I just shoot you?”

Q didn’t have his glasses. Bond didn’t even notice in that half-darkness that the Quartermaster had got rid of them. But now, Q’s green eyes were gleaming with a mad glint while the rest of his features where just _dead._ The lift, stopped dry. 

“Well, you could shoot me... but good... luck... getting out of the elevator in... a blind floor, before the fire gets to you...” Quintilian told him stifled, and took his left hand to the hand that was blocking his air pathway. Bond let the Quartermaster’s neck and went to the keypad of in order of pressing every button; then he noticed there was only _one_ button. He turned to Q, who was sitting in the corner with his knees pressed to his chest and his face hidden in his arms, which were over his knees. “What did you do?” 

“You have two choices Bond, we have approximately an hour; before the accelerated fire I created corrodes the walls and reaches the eleventh floor, which is the floor we are currently stuck in and kills both. One, you agree with everything I will make up in the report or I kill us both and good luck coming back to life with all your body burnt to pieces. And trust me; I don’t have anything else to lose, beyond my life, which is mainly worthless...” 

Bond was always stuck in situations that left him between a rock and a hard place. But he could say with certainty that it had never been this bad. There was always something, a crack in the situation; some ray of hope that he could use as a Deus ex machine to get out. But right now he was stuck in a lift that was made against bullets, that only had two stops; one in the fire and the other in the fourteenth floor with an infant that was blackmailing with none other than with their lives and was totally ok with killing himself in the process, so the information he glimpsed in the haunted computers; wouldn’t get out of the ashes. 

“Are you serious, Q?” 

“Oh 007, you have no idea how serious I am.” Bond didn’t doubt it.

“So you will kill us both, just because you decided that whatever information in the computer shouldn’t be seen by anybody and by anybody I mean MI6?” 

“It’s more complicated than that, but whatever your overly simplistic mind can cope with.” 

“You are a little shit, do you know that?” James growled putting the gun against the Quartermaster’s head; of course the child didn’t even budge. 

“Well 007, go and pull the trigger and waste a bullet in me and then you have a fifty per cent of chance that something will happen that will spare your life and then good luck by going unscathed after everybody finds out you murdered me, because good luck getting daddy to take your side after you put a bullet to my brain.” Q looked at him under his lashes. Q’s eyes under the neon lights of the lift were inhumanly green; James was waiting for in any moment to display the binary numbers he had been reading for the last eight hours. “Take your time, I guess you have forty minutes, anyway for me is a win-win situation.” 

Bond took a deep breath and analysed the situation as quickly as he could. Did he care about what just happened? No. Was Q a threat to England? Highly doubtable. M... _Olivia_ knew the kid so well, she was comfortable enough to yell at Q like if he was family and was expected to be obeyed. He could also always do whatever the hell he wanted; it wasn’t like Q could stop him from _babbling_ after they were both safe and sound. Then a masterful idea formed in his mind. 

“I will keep the secret if you do something for me…” James bargained in a moment of brilliancy.

“Do you want to return to your silly 00’s missions?”

“What are you? A mind-reader?” James asked annoyed that Q was able to read him so easy. People would kill for the ability that Q seemed to possess. 

“Please Bond, this is the only thing left in your life: your love for this pathetic country. I might not know a thing about James Bond, but I do know your 007 side, quite well...”

“Will you do it?” 

“You know I will.” 

“Then would you mind turning the bloody lift on?”

Q let his head fall on the wall and Bond was able to feel again the lift in movement. 

41

They, leaving the building; was awfully anticlimactic. They left the lift in the fourteenth floor and then mounted the normal one, which Q still had the key, then they left the lobby and walked to the door. Q pulled a cell phone with drunken steps and put it on his ears. 

_“Quantum?”_ Q wasn’t able of saying hello, when his brother was already inferring and hitting right on target. 

“Yeah...” Q mumbled tired. “Sherlock?”

_“Q?”_ Sherlock asked his worry augmenting every single passing second. 

“I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.” 

_“You will get to safety before you pass out, you understand Q? Where the hell are you? Are you accompanied? Q!? Answer me immediately!”_

James stopped when he noticed the young man was about to faint; he had all the twitches, but it seemed like the Quartermaster was nothing, but persistent, because he was able to reach the car, before his knees gave out. Quintilian took the back of his hand to his nose and blood was thickly rolling down his nostrils.

_“When was the last time you ate?”_

Q ignored the leaned on it, panting; it was probably a respiratory arrest. He never handled panic well, everybody would attest to it. He hoped that 007 was a man of word, because he couldn’t stay awake much longer...

42

When Q opened his eyes again, he was in a soft surface. Everything hurt and he couldn’t see for his life. He squinted, but he knew it was pointless. His ears were ringing with silence and every single crack of the ambiance made him want to crawl out of his skin. He felt itchy, he took his hand to his nose and it was all full with dried blood. He wanted to know where the hell he was. 

He stood up, disregarding how dizzy he felt and it was instantaneous how his legs gave up on him. He hissed covertly, when he hit his knees with the floor.   
  
“You truly like your ‘Personal Statements’ don’t you?” Q heard that someone told him. 007, his mind provided immediately. 

“007…” Q answered with tired voice. 

“This thingamabob of yours is impossible, I grabbed the phone after you passed out and the thing just shut off.” 

“How many times had rung, Bond?” The boy asked him with an unusual sense of urgency. 

“Once.” He answered without being too difficult. “But the screen never turned on, so I don’t know who it was… why?” He demanded. 

“If called three times and I don’t answer it usually means I have been _kidnapped.”_ It seemed nobody had any strength left, because Q was being unusually forthcoming. 

“Are you joking?” James asked flabbergasted. “What if you are sleeping or taking a bath and… your minions are not what I’d call _patient?”_

“Well, the last time I didn’t answer my phone, they found me three days later with Walking Pneumonia, so I just sulked and never made again the mistake of not answering my phone…” He was not in MI6 just yet, but it has been his uncle Gareth whom had found him, so the rule stayed.

“You had walking pneumonia and you didn’t do anything?”

“I was fine…” Q grunted, sitting in lotus position; rubbing his knees. 

“Yes, clearly. How long were you in the hospital?” James snorted ironic. Q mumbled something that James didn’t quite get. “Beg your pardon?” 

“I said: A WEEK! Ok? I passed a week in the hospital, before they discharged me…” 

“A week? Are you sure it was walking pneumonia?” The agent asked flabbergasted.

“I might have had a respiratory failure…” 

“Excuse me, tell me again; how are you still alive?” 

“Where are we?” Q ignored the question, crawling to where the bed was and put his ailing head on the bed. 

“You don’t know?” James taunted. Q glared annoyed. “In Cheltenham.” He shrugged, still trying to access the phone, without success. “A storm broke down and most of the roads were inaccessible.” Silence befell the room. “Are you going to need a hospital? You bled like a pig on our way here.”

“I might need to go to the A&E if I begin to bleed again.”

“You are anaemic, aren’t you?”

“What was your first clue, 007? Me, bleeding from my nose or the fact that I don’t tend to move too much if it’s not necessary?” Q snapped at his agent and when James was going to answer, the phone rang. It was a different ringtone that what he was used to hear in Q’s phone, the child seemed to have a ringtone for everything and everyone. This time it was just the ‘ring’ sound from those old phones. 

“Something wrong?” James asked with his eyes narrowing. Q seemed suddenly too alert. 

“I don’t know who that is…” He admitted warily. That never auspicated anything good.

“Make it work so _I_ can talk.” Q opened his mouth. “Now. And don’t you dare to contradict me, you little shit.” The agent threatened menacingly. Q took the phone, sighing. One shake from Q and the phone accepted the call.

“Yes?” James answered when Q put the phone on his ears and let his hand there. 

_“I’m sorry… I need to speak with ‘Q’?”_

The first thing that James noticed was that the man that was talking was tired extremely tired. It was like hearing himself talking when no mission was in course. The other thing was that he was doubtful, like if said ‘Q’ didn’t really exist. Threat: 1 to 2, his brain provided.

“Who is this?” He asked in his regular voice: not particularly threatening, but firm. 

_“Ah, yes… um~ sorry, what you might be thinking of me… calling at eight in the morning, but I might explode if I keep waiting. I’m Watson, John Watson? Capitan of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?”_

“You are Three Continents Watson?” James asked flabbergasted. Everybody in any army knew of the Army Doctor, Three Continents Watson… that nobody knew what the hell he was doing as a doctor when the man could sniper, better than any soldier on a PARA team and he had saved so many lives that half of the men in the Queen’s service owned his lives to him by now. James had never seen him in person, being NAVY; but his reputation preceded him. He wondered how Q knew such an army personality. 

“Shit.” Q took the phone from James’ ear, after hearing 007. “Doctor Watson?” 

_“Oh… hello. ”_ The Doctor seemed to recognize his voice at once. _“I’m sorry for calling so early…”_

“It’s fine, you are not disturbing anything. You are calling to give me your answer?” James frowned, before Q’s words.

_“I… yes… I accept. ”_ He said not too convinced. 

“Good. Right now I’m not in London, Doctor Watson, but what do you say if you come to Vauxhall Cross on Monday?” 

_“That’s fine…”_ The man sighed as if the world was crushing him with her weight. _“Ten am is ok with you, sir?”_

“Q is fine, Doctor Watson. Would you mind coming at eight?” 

_“Whatever hour is fine.”_ James couldn’t not-notice the flinch in Q’s face.

“Make that seven.” Q changed his mind. Watson made a confused sound. “Actually, can you come in the early morning, if it is not too inconvenient…? It’s two hundred, ok with you?”   

_“It’s Vauxhall Cross even open at that hour?”_

“No, but you are not going to go to Vauxhall Cross. Look, I will send you an encrypted email with the coordinates you need to go…”

_“It’s fine…”_ John accepted like going with the flow, not caring what the hell happened.

“Oh God…” Q moaned worried. The voice of the doctor was like a neon sign telling everybody: ‘I’m not sure how long I will stay alive.’ “Look, just hang on in there and don’t make any stupid decisions before I have talked to you, ok?” 

_“Stupid Decisions?”_ John sputtered scandalized. 

“Oh for heavens’ sake! Just give the gun to the landlady!” He exploded, feeling that everything was crumbling around him. The ‘gun’ news startled James. 

_“I…”_ The line got cut, like if Watson didn’t want to face his demons or the fact that he was planning on killing himself. 

Q didn’t know how he managed _not_ to scream his lungs out. He stomped in the number six and waited to be attended.

“He is going to kill himself and I’m stuck in a bloody storm in Cheltenham!”

_“Good morning, Quintilian.”_ Mycroft greeted him with his always calm and apathetic voice. Q could hear that Mycroft was having breakfast with his wife and children. 

“What good mornings and what good mornings, you useless walrus!?” James could see that Q had already overflowed his glass. “What did you tell him that sent him to the edge of suicide you bloody heartless pillock?!” 

_“I will take a leap and assume you are talking of the good doctor? I heard Mallory offered him a spot as a Medical Agent.”_ Impassible. If you asked anybody to describe Mycroft Holmes that was _it:_ IMPASSIBLE. 

“Do you know another person on the verge of suicide!?” 

_“I know a lot of people that are indeed on the verge of suicide, Quintilian. Must you always be so explosive? Take a deep breath, you know how I loath to deal with temper-tantrums…”_

“Didn’t you hear me?”

_“While I admit I would have married and shackled Sherlock to John, had I had the opportunity. I am an extremely busy man. You must know that the situation in the Middle East is shaky at best and my time cannot be wasted in a man that decided to destroy himself because he cannot face the memory of a man that died for him.”_

“Bloody hell, Mycroft.” Q breathed aghast at Mycroft’s words. “Tell me you didn’t even infer that Sherlock jumped out of a building, because of _him!”_ It was horrifying to even think about it, but it made sense why suddenly John Watson was thinking so seriously on taking his life away… Mycroft had told him, he could see it: impassible, cold and cruel; how it was his fault Sherlock wasn’t there with them anymore. 

_“Did I lie?”_ The British Government asked in all his self-righteousness. _“Didn’t Sherlock jumped out of a building because Moriarty threatened to kill Greg, Mrs Hudson; Molly and the good doctor?”_

“You cannot be this heartless!” He screamed at his older brother, feeling another respiratory attack around the corner. 

_“I don’t know why you are having health issues, but go back to sleep. I don’t like how your breathing sounds right now. I would loath if Britain lost her Quartermaster to an illness.”_

“But!”

_“Have a favourable day, Quintilian.”_

“Don’t call me…” But for the second time the line was cut. Q turned to the agent and James noticed that Q had a slightly crazy and at the same time, an ‘I don’t know what to do’ rictus in his face. “Jesus, I know you know that I don’t like you Bond, but I don’t know how to drive and I need to go to London right now…” He pleaded in panic, god only knew what Sherlock would do if the Good Doctor decided to off himself. 

“Are you sure you should be having this hustle with your anaemia?” Q seemed about to cry. “Look out the window Q, it’s pouring…” James went to the window and showed him the landscape. Nothing could be seen, everything was a sheet of grey and the wind was howling, hitting the glass forcefully. He hadn’t even notice the noise. “They are going to stop us in the highway…” 

Q sat on the bed with the phone in his hands and began to take deep breaths. Seven in and Seven out.

“I will have to call an ambulance and make a mess, because your name is a letter and there is no medical history available to the civilians, won’t I?” 

“It will pass, it always does…”

“How do you know somebody like ‘Three Continents Watson’?” James asked flabbergasted. 

“I’m just minding him, for the time being…” Q mumbled closing his eyes and making himself as small as possible on the bed.

“I’m always surprised that you speak of people as if they were animals…” 

“By the way he behaves… it’s that or a toddler.” 

“Are you serious? Do you think the man will kill himself?”

“The matter is not ‘if’ the matter is ‘when’ and if I’m there to avoid it.” James looked at him with reproach and high dose of incredulity. Q ignored the man and picked the phone again with pained movements and pressed the number 5.

_“I’m saving Arthur Pendragon’s life, I don’t have time to answer the phone right now, but if you leave your message I will get back to you as soon as possible, Boy Scout’s promise.”_ You could hear in the background. _‘You are not saving my life, Merlin!’ ‘You are not a Boy Scout; you are not even American!’_ And then Merlin answered: _“There are British Scouts… now shut up, Prat.”_ and then you heard the bleep. Q just sighed and hanged. 

“Why don’t you try to sleep? If the man eats his gun, it’s not your fault…” James advised the _child._ Q winced in pain at the thought and paid attention to the phone again. He downloaded the list of the contacts that were stored in Sherlock’s phone and prayed that all of them were still working.

_Lestrade._

_“Lestrade.”_ The man answered the phone, after the first ring. 

“Yes, am~” Q didn’t have the remote idea on how to approach the subject. Tact… he was born without it.

_“Who are you?”_ The Inspector asked suspiciously when he didn’t recognize the voice. 

“Look who am I, it doesn’t matter in the long run, but… you might want to put John Watson…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

_“Excuse me, who the hell are you and how do you know John Watson?!”_ Q sighed and then he heard how the Detective began to yell everybody to trace the call.

“Detective… Detective…” Another sigh from Q’s part. He looked at James Bond and then closed his eyes. “Detective… I’m calling from Cheltenham, if that would make you feel any better.” Of course the man would completely ignore him. “See? This is why I hate you people.” Q made 007 know. The agent just cocked an eyebrow. 

_“Then go and fucking get me Mycroft Holmes!”_

“There is really no need to call him… he is not going to answer, especially not for this.” That seemed to stop everything. 

_“You know Mycroft?”_

“Look, the good doctor is not doing well and I know he doesn’t want to see you people after the ‘St Bart Debacle’, but I’m stuck in bloody Cheltenham with a frigging anaemia and a downpour and I will like very much for John Watson to be without a bullet hole in his brain so I can hire him and keep him alive!” He began to pant again breathless, James was debating if taking his phone or not. 

_“Sally! I’M GOING TO BAKER STREET!”_ The DI bellowed, grabbing everything in quick and desperate motions by the sound of it. _“Look, you little shit, if you lying to me: I’m going to hunt you down and get your arse in jail for at least seventy two hours to see how much you like it!”_

“Detective…” Q called with a heavy voice. 

_“WHAT?!”_ He shouted, entering in a car and turning the ignition.

“Detective… I… I don’t know how to tell you this… but… Mycroft told John that Sherlock’s death was his fault.” Q heard clearly how the man seemingly lost control of the wheel and then the brakes skidded in the clearly wet asphalt. 

_“He WHAT?!”_

“I-I’m just finding out.” He defended himself, stuttering. That stutter surprised James. 

_“I’m going to kill him! You just wait… that… that bloody heartless bugger!”_ And with those words, he hanged the phone. 

“Human interaction tires me…” Q confessed to his agent with his eyes closed, letting the phone go. He felt James’ lukewarm fingers on his carotid. “Do I pass your medical exam?” Q snorted sarcastically. 

“Your blood pressure is on the roof.” 

“It’s fine… my blood pressure is usually on the floor.”

“Q…” 

“007, I beg you. Stop…” He begged desperately, gently grabbing the hand on his neck and guiding it out of his body. 

TBC


	12. John Watson's Interview

43

Q noticed in the penumbrae, trying very hard to ignore James Bond’s presence shadowing him that John Watson was approximating. The man was too thin and he had a crutch to help him walk.

“Hello.” The doctor greeted uncomfortable.

“Good afternoon… doctor? Or would you be rather be called by your rank?”

“Just John, please.” The man begged, disquieted. “Bloody hell, no offense, but you look bloody young.” John could not not-comment, now that he had a good look on his employer; the first time had not been a good time.

“If I had a penny for every time somebody said that to me I would be rich.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re rich…” James interjected in the conversation.

“It’s a saying and nobody asked for your opinion.” Q snapped at the man as always. James thought: that wasn’t a _no._

“Hello.” John greeted the other man, now that he noticed him. John didn’t know how he missed that kind of presence. Proof of his deteriorated state, surely.

“Doctor Watson, this is James Bond, Agent 00 with license to kill, designation seven. 007, Doctor or Captain John Watson. Pleased to meet you, now, stop wasting my time and follow me.” He ordered, not even letting them to shake their hands; annoyed and began to walk to the entrance to the Churchill’s tunnels.

“Is he always like this?” John asked worried at James.

“That depends…” James admitted.

“On what?” John asked flabbergasted.

“Well he has a level of snark depending on who you are: beginning with zero snark, for his baby-minions and ten for the 00 Agents.” The agent explained. Q’s lower lid trembled at 007’s words.

“Good morning?” The officer stationed at the entrance, looking at his clock disoriented, because of the lack of moon or sun.

“Your mileage may vary.” Was Q’s answer. “Good day, Danny.”

“New bloke, sir?” The man asked at John Watson’s presence.

“New medical agent.” The boffin explained to the officer calmly while climbing the reception, grabbing some stuff.

“Good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” The officer offered, wincing; looking at James, whom just cocked an eyebrow.

“Hush, Danny. Stop scary the newbies…” Q shushed, returning to the floor.

“Yes, sir!” Q just rolled his eyes.

“Here, Doctor, put the five fingers of your right hand in here.” John looked at the thing in Q’s hands. It was something black and squared with five indentations that would fit the five fingers of any right hand, comfortably. John put the hands there. “Do not jump.”

“What?” He felt a prick in his middle finger and hissed, but he didn’t move the fingers. Everybody turned to the screen.

 **John Hamish Watson**  
Capitan of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers  
HRM British Army Forces  
Clearance: 8+  
[…]

“Well, it seems you are you.” Q spoke for the sake of the people present, shrugging.

“Where you expecting anything else?” John asked flabbergasted.

“Irrelevant. Let’s go.” He ordered Watson and turned to 007. “Come alone, Bond.” Then he softened his rictus and turned to the office. “Have a nice shift, Danny.”

“Much obliged, sir!” The young man nodded. “Pleasure to meet you, sir! I’m a fan of your blog!” The officer told him, animatedly.

“SHH!” Q hushed the man, annoyed.  

“I…”

“Everybody stop talking and come with me!”

“Th-thank you…” John stuttered, feeling again like crying.

“For what it worth, we in MI6 believe in Sherlock Holmes.” That broke the doctor.

“Daniel Alexander!” Q scolded the man.

“Ergh… sorry, I’ll shut up.” Danny mumbled appalled. “Sirs…” He sheepishly bid his goodbyes to the 00 Agent.

“Sherlock Holmes is not a liar and Moriarty is a pain in everybody’s arse, I assure you.” Q said to John, while grabbing him by his wrist and forcing him to walk. John was stupefied, after hearing Q saying such thing.

Yeah, the young man was right… the media and the Commonwealth would never know the truth, but this was the Government and it was different, it was not possible for MI6 not to know about such a network like the one Moriarty created. John covered his eyes with his free hand to hide the tears, even if it was his fault and Sherlock would never be with him again, there were people that believed in Sherlock Holmes.

44

The place was a labyrinth and even with John excellent internal compass, he was at loss, after two minutes of walking. Q was heading the committee and that Bond bloke was shadowing him. He wondered if the 00 Agent was Q’s bodyguard.

“Wipe the tears; you are not meeting anybody, weeping like a milk maiden.” Q ordered, lending him a handkerchief.

“I apologize… what you must be thinking of me…” John pleaded, grabbing the handkerchief; mortified.

“We don’t ask and honestly we don’t care. This isn’t a competition to know who has more testosterone in their systems.” Q said annoyed. The two older men watched how Q slid a card and the glass door, opened. “Get in. M will be arriving at eight o’clock. But I need to sort some things first.” He turned to his agent. “You can go and be a nuisance elsewhere, 007. I assure you that Doctor Watson is more than safe and he knows how to fight even with that psychosomatic limp.” He half-entered the office.

“How do you know it’s psychosomatic?” John mumbled.

“You were shot in the shoulder.” Q turned again to look at the doctor. “And I read your blog.” John was gaping.

“Wait! You read my blog?” John didn’t know if flummoxed was the right word, for describing how he was feeling after finding out that The Quartermaster of bloody MI6 read his blog.

“I was the one who fixed you counter…” Q made him know rolling his eyes. 

“Oh… I did ask myself: why it was suddenly working… Sherlock told me to shut up and stop being paranoid.”

“My hotel reservation just expired…” James announced to Q.

“Again?” Q asked frizzled. “Can’t you find a bloody flat once and for all?”

“What for? I’m never there. So, Quartermaster… what shall we do?”

“Bond, I’m not your au-pair, you are old enough to go to a hotel and ask for a bloody room.” 

“That’s definitively not my job. You are my Quartermaster, you are supposed to take care of my needs while on a mission and nowadays I’m always on a mission…” Yes, it was 007’s turn of act like his bodyguard.

“When your gun explodes in your face 007, don’t come crying.” Q threatened with a dark aura surrounding him. “Enter! Both of you!” He barked and finished entering the room. John looked at them worried.

“You shouldn’t enjoy what just happened that much, mate.” John advised him concerned. James Bond’s face was denoting such pleasure in making the Quartermaster’s life hell, John feared for everybody’s sanity.

“It’s the little pleasures, Watson. The little pleasures…” Bond answered all, but giddy. Entering in M’s office.

45

It was amazing watching Q working with a computer. It was as similar as watching Sherlock deducing his cases. It struck like lightning: Q’s face; those bloody cheekbones that would cut you in half, the way they moved; even the shape of their eyes, mouth and face were eerily similar. John tried to delete it, just like Sherlock would do with information he didn’t want… it was pointless of course. It was forever engraved in his mind that Q was pretty much a clone of Sherlock Holmes with the greenest eyes that he had seen in his life.

“There, everything is in your phone. Get out of my presence, before I do something that M will regret.” Q grumbled annoyed. James and John had to rein their need of chuckling, because Q looked like a ruffled cat.

“Good night, Q.” The agent whished airily and so, so smug; Q wanted to drown the man in acid.

“I hope you step on Lego, 007.” The nerd in Q couldn’t stand it anymore.

That was more than their self-control could handle. They both guffawed and Bond ran away before Q decided to do something horrible to him.

“Well, now that I got rid of that nuisance. Let’s talk.”

“Ok.” John accepted, returning to his gloomy state.

“You are never going to pass the psychological test.” John opened his eyes wide. “Luckily for you, nobody ever pass such thing.” He gave him a folder. John grabbed the folder and read it, not understanding one single thing. “Here are the answers. You have three days to learn them.”

“What?”

“You are suicidal and you are grieving, but you have glowing recommendations. Not only from Sherlock Holmes, whom would only sprouts flowers out of his mouth for you, but also from Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade and half of the army; notwithstanding all the witnesses and clients of Sherlock Holmes. We couldn’t care less if you are a bloody mess at the end of the day, as long as you are professional and finish your missions, everything else is irrelevant. Questions?”

“I’m still processing.” Mycroft and Sherlock had recommended him? That… in his life would he have imagined that. Sure… Sherlock was really ‘nice’ (as nice as the man could be) with him, but to the point of telling the Government about him? “I…” Q noticed that the good doctor wanted to tell him something, but he immediately changed his mind. “What are my duties?” He asked all business.

“It’s like a bloody A&E, if you pardon my French. Normally our agents come home, bloodied and battered; it’s your job to patch them up.” John nodded. “Sometimes you will be asked to help with creating vaccines and probably biological warfare, you can say no, of course; but any bit of help is welcome.”

“I see…”

“I doubt it, but you will. Your office hours are from nine am to five pm.” John nodded. “Forget about that.” John now blinked confused. “There is no such thing as ‘office hours’ in MI6.”

“Oh… ok.”

“Every internist have from two to three 00 agents assigned to them specifically.” Q explained.

“Ok?” _Why,_ it was on Watson’s tongue, but he refrained. “Who are mines?”

“007 and 006.” John blinked again. “You can ask for reassignment.” He turned the monitor so he could watch the screen. “James Bond, 007 and Alec Trevelyan, 006.” John nodded. “You are authorized to use brute force or any kind of force to make them stay in medical.” John kept silent. “I assume you are accustomed to Difficult Patients?” The doctor was able to hear the capitalization.

“You could say that…” John chuckled remembering better times.

“Well, these are the worst you are going to find out. Anything is permitted with them: from tranquilizer darts to hitting their meridians to knock them down. We don’t care what you do, just mend them.”

“I can do that.” Watson nodded with more spirit.

“Good, it seems our conversation it’s coming to an end.” John nodded. “Pay attention to what the shrink is writing, if you think it’s not good, even having the answers to the test; come to me, ASAP. I will sort it out.”

“I… okay…”

“Good. Welcome to MI6.” He offered his welcome. “Now, off you go, Doctor Watson. M will see you at eight.”

“It was a pleasure, Q.” John stood up with the help of the crutch and offered his hand to the young man.

“Uhu…” He accepted the hand. John was going to let go the hand, but Q didn’t allow it. “I can’t fix…” Q stopped that train of words and changed them. “I’m not good with people.” Q decided instead without letting the hand go.

 _“So similar to Sherlock_ …” John thought, with a hurtful and longing pang in his heart.

“Mycroft Holmes is an idiot, Doctor Watson. I must admit I don’t like you, but that doesn’t mean you had anything to do with Sherlock Holmes’ decision of taking his own life…” John stayed silent. Q began to nibble his lower lip, not knowing if he just did something wrong. He was going to offer the Doctor a shoulder to cry or at least to unload the burden, but he just _couldn’t_ bring himself to do it. “Godspeed.” He wished instead to the man, letting the hand go. Q returned to his uncle’s computer, which those idiots (Tanner, Mallory and Moneypants) crashed; again, trying to surfing the net, they downloaded something and now the computer was a mess.

John didn’t sleep that night, with Q’s words going and going over and over again around his head. He was so lost in his grieve for Sherlock that he didn’t even remotely think of why Q seemed to know so well Sherlock and Mycroft, to the point of calling Mycroft Holmes, the Bloody British Government: an _Idiot_ and mean it.

**TBC**


	13. A 00's mission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't planning on updating or doing anything AT ALL, but it is my birthday and I said to myself: myself, what the hell!? And hence the chapter, which is a shameful filler, I tell ya, but anyway enjoy.

46

Q was in his office, the one he never used and he knew he was making his minions nervous by that fact, but he needed the solitude to do what he was doing. After all, he was a man of his word and now he needed to fulfil his promise to Bond and return him to his silly 00 missions. Just to spite, Q made a query in the system and assigned to Bond to the most dangerous mission the system currently had, when everything was ready to go, he pulled his phone and pressed an icon that was in the main screen of his cell phone, which prompted the caller, which dialled automatically to James Bond. 

“007?”

_“Yes. What is it, Q?”_

“Mission. Don’t go and waste my time, I beg you.”

_“Give me five.”_

“Uhu…” They both hanged and Q rose from his chair and left the usually unusual office. He pretended not to notice how every single person in Q-Branch was trying to peak in the office.

James, true to his word arrived to Q-Branch with two minutes to spare.

“007.” Q greeted the agent, the moment his presence was noticed, which was odd to Bond. Q always waited until he lost his patience to acknowledge him.

“What’s the mission?” Bond asked uninterested. Q ignored him and stopped one of his baby-minions, the favourite; James noticed. He didn’t know or care about her name.

“Anne, dear. Do not disturb me, unless there is an emergency. I need to talk with 007.”

“Of course, sir. Will you be wanting Thai?” Ah yes… it was Thai Day in Q-Branch.

“My usual, if you are so kind.” He accepted with a reassuring smile. Anne beamed at him. “Follow me, 007.”

James was not going to follow Q _anywhere_ without knowing where the hell they were going. It seemed like that every time he followed Q anywhere, his life was in mortal danger and not the usual he could loosen himself out, without Q wanting him to. His distrust seemed to reflect rather overtly in his face.

“We are just going to my office, don’t worry, your virtue is quite safe with me… which I can’t say the same for me.” Bond rolled his eyes. “Come along, 007. I don’t have all day.”

“Didn’t know you had an office.” He remarked still wary.

“It’s merely decorative.” The boffin admitted. “Unless I need privacy, 00 missions are mostly classified for the level of clearance most of Q-branch members possess.” That made sense to Bond; the baby-interns couldn’t have a security clearance of more than 5+.

Bond followed the young man, with his hands ready to do something drastic, but Q only entered an office, as promised. He noticed immediately that the office did was merely decorative. There was nothing that spoke of Q. Now that he thought about it, there was nothing in _his throne_ that spoke of Q as a person, either. The office was half of the size of M, but similarly decorated.

Q pressed a button close to the door and the windows heated slightly which caused a chemical reaction that gradually blacked out the glass. James wanted to say something like: “neat.” But it was very likely that Q designed that and he was too petty to compliment his Quartermaster.

There were no papers or folders or anything in the desk, baring the sleek office organizer with some elegant pens and a computer. Q took a seat and utilizing his fingerprint as key, the taller drawer opened. There were more than fifty folders filed in an organization system probably only Q understood, because the separators were all made of some kind of black fibre and the tabs were labelled in bas-relief with only 0’s and 1’s in white.

The Quartermaster pulled one of the folders out in record time, if there was something that Bond noticed about Q, was that the child was unnaturally efficient. And put it on the desk, perfectly straight. 

“Why all the secrecy? I’m benched remember?”

“Don’t be stupid 007, this is a 00 mission.” Q told him as curtly as always. James stood even more still and didn’t say anything.

“It is quite straightforward. You see that man?” Q asked after meddling with his computer and showing him that there was a big screen in the wall beside them.

“I see it.”

“Make him disappear, make it look an accident.” He typed some more and three more photos appeared. “If you can, kill them all three too.” Q told him dispassionate. James noticed that under the principal target was a woman, the wife; his mind supplied him immediately and two teenagers. “Questions?”

“Are you going to answer?”

“This is not a mindless job, 007. That man is plotting against the Queen and so is her family. I will give you a compound that will destroy the bodies in a few hours in case you cannot make it look like an accident or a deal gone wrong.” James looked at Q with his eyes narrowed. “They will be in their vacation manor. So many things can go wrong…” Q told his agent with something weird shining in his eyes.

“I see… how jealous is this man of his wife?”

“Good, I see you are excellent at spotting details.”

“She doesn’t do a good job concealing the bruises.” It was a poor piss job; she didn’t even use the right concealers to drown the purples and greens and to the trained eye where like a neon sign.

“She doesn’t.” Q showed him a new photo of the woman. She was all battered. “Do try not to kill the woman by punching her, we don’t have much scruples, true; but even evil has to have standards.”

“Are you serious?” James asked appalled.

“I’m not supposed to encourage your psychopathic ways, but I would do it.” He admitted, shrugging.

“That’s sick.”

“Whatever gets the job done.” Q recited and James didn’t know if being scandalized or not. “What do you want?” 

“Beg your pardon?”

“For the mission, what do you want? Poison, a gun; minions… what do you need?”

“Isn’t this your job?”

“007, I don’t know how the last Q managed Q-Branch, but you are the one going on a mission, I will give you your normal necessities, but you are the one who knows how to move in the world…” Q made him know. Bond was surprised.

“Do I need to answer right now?”

“You get deployed in three days.” Q gave Bond the deadline.

“I will let you know in a few hours.”

“Good, now get out of my sight.”

“With pleasure.” Bond accepted seductively, doing all, but winking at the Quartermaster. Q just rolled his eyes, trying to squash to the best of his abilities his amusement.

47

“Do you mind if I hug you and kiss you on the cheek?” Mariselis Antonini, Head of the Medical Branch of MI6 asked Q, when she found him in the kitchen.

“Excuse me?” Q asked almost burning himself with his cup.

“I said: would you mind terribly if I hug you and kiss you?”

“I would be deeply disturbed, yes.” Q admitted flabbergasted.

“Come here, you socially retarded boffin!” The woman hugged the lights out of him and kissed him on the cheek as promised.

“I must admit confusion…”

“Your Doctor Watson is like a blessing from the heavens…”

“He is not mine…” Q blustered immediately.

“Oh you know what I mean, don’t be daft, Hun.” She scolded him, good-naturedly. “He is a doctor by vocation, he couldn’t be anything else.” She nodded knowledgeable. “It’s magnificent how he handles everything and such a dear he is, everybody loves him and Nancy from communications has a crush on him and always gets Asthma when she sees him, it’s adorable. Doctor Watson, so oblivious; bless him.”

“I’m glad?” Q asked wanting to go back to the safety of Q-Branch.

“Oh Q! I cannot wait for the first 00 Agent to come to Medical and face John Watson. We have a betting going! It will be explosive!” She giggled and after hugging and kissing him again, she let him in peace.

“Why do I have to be the only sane man?” He wondered to nobody in particular.

48

Q was again trying to find out what was wrong with his uncle’s computer, with no avail… the computer kept dying on him every two minutes. It was most annoying.

“For heavens’ sake, uncle Gareth. What do you use your computer for?!” The young man complained, turning the computer on again.

“You know… for mails and stuff…” M noticed how every single hair in his Godson’s body stood up at the answer. He cleared his throat and went to do something else. “Heard about Captain Watson…” M resumed the conversation, from the drawers. “Quite a boom the man, even the psychologist liked him… which is impossible.”

“Uhu…” Was Q non-committal answer.

“Why don’t you like the bloke? I thought he was Sherly’s best friend or something.” M asked curious. The sounds coming from Q were enough to understand the situation. “Ah… you are jealous.” Gareth chuckled under his breath. Sherlock was Quinn’s favourite brother and until Doctor Watson, best friend. He was sure Q was blaming nine ways to Sunday the good doctor, for the ‘supposed’ death of Sherlock Holmes.

“I am most certainly NOT JEALOUS!” After the outburst, Q quickly; cleaned his throat and sulked in the computer. M chuckled again; Q was like a ruffled kitten. It was adorable.

“I see…”

“Shut up…” The young man muttered sulkily.

“I will take a wild guess and say that you don’t like Arthur either.”

“Of course I don’t like that Pendragon brute…” Q huffed all holier-than-thou.

“I thought you were friends with the sister.”

“I am friends with Morgana, yes. I was the one whom killed the phone towers that fatidic day…”

“Oh, I knew you were the ones behind that clusterfuck. Do you know how much work we had to do to avoid for people printing those photos of Arthur in his pants?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Serves him right.”

“Why? Did he steal your biscuits when you were younger?” The older man mocked affably.

“Now that you mention it? Yes, he did.” Stupid Pendragon was a menace when Merlin was not looking; it was a good thing that Merlin knew Arthur so well. “He also had an annoying tendency of sticking gum to my hair, because he said that long hair is for girls. The pillock…” Q muttered raging inside. M had to do his best not to laugh, especially when it seemed that Q was about to break the keys.

“Poor little Quinn.”

“Leave me alone, uncle Gareth…”

49

“Sir.”

“Yes, Danielle?” Q asked when the woman walked to his desk. His eyes shifted to the clock in his computer, it was three o’clock in the morning.

“I’m gonna get going; don’t you want us to go together?” She asked tapping her fingers on the desk.

“It’s ok… I will stay here.”

“Sir, if I may…” Q looked at her under his glasses. “We have been here for a week.”

“I need to finish this, Danielle. I’m fine, really.”

“But sir.”

“You! Go Home! NOW!” Rose entered Q-Branch, flanked by medical which only meant war. Danielle winced. She was trying to avoid this situation precisely, but now it was too late.

“Excuse me?” Q asked Rose annoyed. Danielle backed up, slowly.

“We don’t need you here. I saw the bled toilet paper and it’s yours… you think I wouldn’t find out about you anaemia?”

“That was like two days ago, are you insane?” Q accused her, astonished.

“This is your fault! You have turned me into a stalker!” Rose accused him annoyed. “If you were honest at least with me, screw medical…” Medical complained, except John Watson whom was just resigned and of course, this had to be another similar trait between Q and Sherlock Holmes. “I wouldn’t feel the need of rummage through your trash!”

“Felon!” He accused Rose like a five year old.

“Yes! You have turned me into a criminal! Keep it that way and I will become something even worse!”

“You cannot force me to do anything! I outrank you!”

“Don’t make me wake Moneypenny up, Q! You know I will!” She threatened him.

“Ah! For shame, R! For shame! You won’t wake her; you are too scared of her!” Q called her bluff.

“After I tell her all you have done to yourself this week, who do you think she is going to care about?”

“Cheater!”

“Now, if you come to medical and then go home without struggling this will be a secret…”

“This is Q-Branch! Nothing stays secret here!”

“I have 0015 on standby!” Rose warned him, showing him a cell phone. Q noticed 0015 was already dialled and you only needed to hit the green auricular icon.

“Is this always like this?” John asked worriedly to one of his colleagues.

“Like this?” John nodded. “Oh no, _this_ is much worse… normally Eve Moneypenny is here and we don’t usually have a 00 Agent in queue that can tackle Q.”

“You talk about Q as if he was a rabid, poisonous snake.” To John, Q was so skinny a soft wind would probably break him in two and the way he dressed, he didn’t want to imagine the bullying in school.

“You don’t know Q at all, do you?” John frowned. The ‘colleague’ sighed. “Give it a few months and something will slip and you will meet the ‘Overlord of Q-Branch.’”

“The ‘Overlord of Q-Branch’?” John lived in perpetual confusion since he began to work in MI6. Mrs Hudson enjoyed immensely all his non-classified tales.

“GIVE ME THAT PHONE! YOU HARPY!” Q threw himself to stop the woman from calling the agent.

50

“You should at least eat, you know?” John told Q, after the epic fight between 0015, Q and Rose to bring Q to medical and then home. “Do you need to look away?” John asked kindly with the IV needle in his hands.

“Whatever…” Q dismissed annoyed. John just sighed… so similar to Sherlock, SO SIMILAR… some days, when everything was too much, he couldn’t look at Q’s face. It was good thing they didn’t work in the same department, he would have already broken down in tears.

“Think about it, if you ate; then you wouldn’t need to be sent home.” The doctor tried to negotiate, if used the right words, it worked with Sherlock…

“Duly noted, Doctor Watson.” So similar to Sherlock, why did Q have to resemble so much Sherlock? It was like punishment and at the same time, he didn’t want to lose this remainder, because if he half-closed his eyes, he could see him without hallucinating. It was contradictory; it was killing him while keeping him alive, Q’s similarities with Sherlock.

“They are just worried about you.” John didn’t have much time in MI6, but he had seen enough to know that Q was MI6’s baby and thus, he had to be protected… not only because they were lost without their Quartermaster, but _because reasons._ Hell, even James Bond whom would first cut his hand than admit it; took care of the Quartermaster in every way he was allowed given their differences. Q snorted.

“Yes, believe me. I have lived all my life with people perpetually worried about me. It is a wonder how I learned how to ride on a bike, with everybody breathing down my neck…” He complained, aggravated with his life. John sighed again, adjusting the IV.

“Tell me if it feels too much, ok?” John asked as kind as always, referring to the liquid that was entering his veins. “Do I have to stay here?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course I have, I might find you puking your guts out if I leave…”

“Do you even know how many times I have had this stupid thing shoved up my arm?” Q snapped at the doctor.

“A lot?” John offered patiently.

“Yes, Doctor Watson, _A Lot_.” So similar to Sherlock, he could imagine how offended he was by the inaccuracy of the phrase: ‘A lot’. John wanted to chuckle, but he refrained.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t mind keeping you company.”

“You must be aware on how much I object to human interaction, Doctor Watson.”

“So similar…” He whispered this time out loud.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Why don’t you lie down and try to rest for a tic? Ta, please?” John put his best puppy eyes. C’mon, if Q was so similar to Sherlock, then his puppy eyes had to work on him.

If anybody was interested: Yes, they worked… magnificently, even. It would be their secret; he couldn’t use his power for evil, after all. People might get the wrong idea.

51

Q was sleeping after 0015 dumped him on his bed and threatened him with tying him to said bed if he didn’t sleep. He had finally moved everything that belonged to his mother to the Holmes Manor in Sussex and moved himself to the main room and accustomed the other room so the 00 Agents could live there if needed.  
  
The phone rang; it was _Ascolta_ by _Ludovico Einaudi,_ which meant Sherlock was calling him. He sobered immediately and answered.

“Sherlock.” He said clearing his throat.

 _“Good afternoon, Q.”_ God knew where Sherlock was right now.

“What happened?”

_“What is John doing working in MI6?”_

“Would you rather have a dead Watson?” He asked without anaesthesia. There was a long pause.

 _“Why?”_ It was the only word Sherlock spoke. It was weird… to hear Sherlock’s voice like that.

“It doesn’t matter.” Q refused to create an even larger rift, between Sherlock and Mycroft.

 _“Something happened. I cannot deduce without information. Tell me!”_ Sherlock ordered his younger brother. _“It doesn’t matter how depressed John was! He would never take his own life!”_ Q knew that… but then Mycroft happened.

“It doesn’t matter, he is fine. I, looking like you, work; sometimes against and sometimes for.”

_“That doesn’t answer my question, Q! Why would John suddenly feel the need to take his own life!?”_

“Why it is so important for you to know the underlying cause? He is grieving, Sherlock; and people badmouthing you is not helping!”

_“You are lying to me! Stop lying to me Quintilian! What was it!?”_

“Is everything ok there, Q?” 0015 asked the Quartermaster, when too much noise was coming from the closed doors.

“Phone call, 0015; go away!” He dispatched the agent and returned to the phone. 0015 just sighed.

_“Why is a 00 agent in mummy’s house?”_

“Because people can’t mind their own business, that’s why. Did you call for anything else than to nag me about John Watson?!”

_“No. I just called you to ask you why John is working in MI6 and you have not answered me, yet.”_

“If you are so keen in finding out, then why don’t you come home and take care of your bloody business yourself!?” And with those words he terminated the call, left the cell phone on the bed and went to the kitchen. He needed tea or vodka or both… but his anaemia was acting up… so he didn’t know how sane was to pour vodka in his Earl Grey.

“Trouble?” 0015 asked, when he noticed that Q was in his kitchen. Q jumped with the heart in his throat, one of these days the bloody 00s would get a bullet for their troubles if they kept startling Q like that. He turned to look at the agent and sighing he said:

“Do you have siblings?”

“No.”

“The shut the fuck up and leave me alone.” He growled rudely, making the punch.

“Didn’t know you had any brothers…” 0015 admitted curious, not even remotely affected by the fact that Q was being a dip-shit. Q was only a dip-shit when something had gone detrimentally wrong… but then again speaking with Q, without Q wanting to speak was like pulling a tooth without anaesthesia.

Q stayed silent, biting his lips; noticing he just gave to the agent personal information about himself. He was so frustrated he just drank his tea hot, so hot he burned himself up; the pain was welcomed, so very welcomed. Pain took the edge out of most things, being the only thing you could normally concentrate on when it was happening. 

**TBC**


	14. Unearth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon is my playground, so I'm taking some licences, because reasons.

52

Q was spying John Watson via MI6 cameras. The man was crying in one of the closets. He had overheard some interns talking about how Doctor Watson was having a bad day and they didn’t know what do to do fix it and now Q was having a guilty conscience. 

“You know that’s a felony, don’t you?” Rose spoke from behind. Q stayed silent, which tipped Rose that something was wrong. “Are you going to do something?”

“I fix computers… not _people.”_ He answered the woman tensely. 

“I think you should go to him, you know? Dunno why, but the man seems to respond well to you…” 

“I look like my brother… that is a trigger that can bite me in the arse…” Q confessed to the woman, given that Q-Branch was mostly desolated. Rose opened his eyes wide, connecting the dots. 

“Wait… he is _that_ John Watson? The blogger?”

“You didn’t know?” Q asked astonished. 

“No!” 

“Well, now you know.” 

“Poor man… first the war and now grieving with the press giving him grief… I would hate to be in his shoes…”

“I will make everything worse…” Q looked at R askance. “I don’t do well with people.” 

“What about you go to where he is and sit silently and wait for queues?” Rose offered some wisdom. Q sighed…

“Me and my guilty conscience. Sherlock is right… sentiment is a nuisance.” The woman didn’t say anything else and just watched his boss walk away from Q-Branch. 

53

Arriving to the closet and sitting beside Doctor Watson was the easy part. John tensed when Q appeared, but didn’t do an effort to mask his grieve. Q bit his lips so hard, he was sure in any moment he would taste the blood in his mouth. Q fidgeted and fiddled and then he took his intertwined fingers to his pressed tight lips and then he opened his mouth and let the first thing his addled brain wanted to say out:

“I-I can play the violin.” He spluttered to the doctor. The man went so still, Q thought he killed him. “I-I’m not good at it.” Q kept blabbering. “I actually play the piano… Mummy used to say that a well-rounded mind needs to know about the discipline of music. So I had to learn how to play an instrument, I love the violin…” He mostly just wanted to learn how to play the violin, because Sherlock played the violin, but the instrument didn’t agree with him and you needed to stand for too long and his delicate health in his infancy, didn’t allow for it. “But I just couldn’t connect with the violin… so the piano it was. I really love the sound, though.” Especially if Sherlock was playing it. “I’m partial to the twenty-fourth caprice of Paganini’s.”  

So similar, so fucking similar it was impossible. Q even called his mother: ‘Mummy’ and Sherlock was a menace with the Caprice No. 24 of Paganini when there was nothing else that would satisfice him at four in the morning.  

“The only song I can play in the violin perfectly, but everybody say I have no soul; is the Ave Maria of Schubert, but Daddy is not a religious man; none in our family is; so I don’t play it as much… if never to be honest. Bunch of scientist, us; I’m afraid… people doesn’t know what to do with us, most of the time.” He kept talking of whatever crossed his mind. “The most difficult song, I don’t know if I can still play is Fantasia of Bach. I stopped practicing when I got into college, I was ridiculously young, you don’t want to know how young I was, people get horrified, when I tell them… and by the fact my parents allowed me to go, without any supervision… well, almost…” It was not like Merlin was actually _supervision,_ two of three days; he was trying to get Pendragon out of the gutter. John chuckled, cutting his monologue.  

“I… I… this is ridiculous… I mean… not you… but this, you are so… so similar to _him,_ it breaks my heart every time I hear your voice and see your face. But this is like being a glutton for punishment, because you are the closest thing I have to remind me of _him_ and you don’t deserve to be a replacement…” 

_Stop grieving, he is alive; I can bring him to you or you to him, only if you hit him and break his nose…_ Q wanted to tell him, but he promised and he couldn’t break his promise to Sherlock, the same way he couldn’t break his promise and not taking care of the broken man in front of him. 

“Thank you.”  John told him with sentiment with his usual openness. Q just intertwined his fingers again and rested them on his forehead. “You don’t have to keep doing this… I’m not your responsibility.” He spoke quietly, but in between the lines it was: _Please, don’t stop._

Q just stood up and went away without offering another word. He hoped Sherlock finished quickly with the Moriarty business; he didn’t know how much time he could stand this situation. 

54

“Happy?” Q asked when 007 reached his desk, with his arm extended like expecting something. 

“Ecstatic.” James admitted, looking at the hand, curiously. “Are you doing something with your hand?”

“The chip.” He kept the conversation without bothering to look at his interlocutor. 

“What chip?”  

“The chip you stole from that house, give it to me, I’m curious to see what is inside.”

“How you know I brought a chip, I haven’t told anyone.” James demanded full with suspicious. 

“Just hand the damn thing, will you?” At least Q now deigned to look at the Agent. 

“What is in there for me, Quartermaster?” Bond asked all seductively, leaning to the desk.

“What you should be asking yourself, it is what it will happen to you if you don’t hand me the damn chip in this moment, 007.” Q warned him with fire in his eyes. James’ smirk just deepened; not even remotely hinting he would go for the chip that Q knew was in the interior suit jacket’s pocket. Q huffed muffled.

These days James Bond just lived for his country and to annoy his Quartermaster, taking him to the edge, leaving him there hanging and then laugh about it. 

Q grabbed with harsh movements the right lapel of Bond’s jacket and was going to do something about the situation, when they were interrupted. 

“Is this a bad moment?” John Watson appeared in Q-Branch. 

Q and James turned exalted at the abrupt interruption. 

“Doctor Watson? Did you lose your way?” Q asked confused. The Good Doctor never came to Q-Branch unless ordered to.

“Well, no… but I noticed you again have a lot of days in here, same clothes and all.” Q did all, but to blush; embarrassed. “So I thought, I would get a move on and bring you food and medicine, before Ms Moneypenny and Rose decided to wage war in Q-Branch, again. I also noticed that there are more than one 00 Agent in MI6 recently and well…” He stopped there. Q blinked a few times. “My landlady made this.” He put a Tupperware on the desk. “I’m not sure how picky you are with your food, but she is a really good cook and you should also take these…” He gave him a little plastic glass with assorted pills inside.

“Oh…” Q was speechless. Nobody had tried before the nice approach when forcing him to eat and medicate him, before.    

“Yeah, Medical would be really glad if we don’t see you there this month.” John made the young man know, chuckling nervously. “Unless you want to make a friendly visit to us that’s fine, we love friendly visits.” 

“Oh…” Q repeated, still in shock. 

“Here, have a fork, sir.” Danielle ran and gave him a fork. “And Anne is refilling your cup, so you can swallow the pills.”

“Tha-Thank you.” Q answered automatically. He watched how the woman opened the Tupperware, put it in front of him and then dove in the fork on his hand in the food. 

“I have the tea!” Anne told Danielle, jogging to where her superior was. 

“Good.” Danielle put the tea on the table. “All done! Bon Appetite!” 

“Right…” 

“Good.” John spoke clapping one time. “I’m going back to medical, ta!” 

“I don’t know what just happened.” Q told to his Agent, when only they remained in the main deck.   

“Just put the food in your mouth.” James told him, taking the hand with the fork to Q’s mouth. If looks could kill, well, 007 wouldn’t even be a scorch mark on the floor. He did ingest the offered food, though.

55

“Would you like to go to a mission with an agent?” Q asked John, startling the man out of his wits.

“Jesus! Make a sound will you!” John scolded the young man, even in that Q was similar to Sherlock, to both Holmes! They walked without making a bloody sound. 

“My apologies, Doctor.” 

“What were you saying, before you scared me to half way to death?” 

“That if you wanted to go to a mission with an agent.” Q repeated dutifully, even if he hated having to repeat himself. 

“I’m not a field agent, Q.” John reminded Q, rolling his eyes affectionately and going to busy himself with something or the other.

“Irrelevant. You can shot a gun, good enough for missions.”  

“Q.” 

“Let me send you to a mission with a 00 Agent, they will make a mess and you won’t feel the need to remember the days…” Q turned immediately to plead. He was not Sherlock; he wasn’t above pleading to get what he wanted and with four older brothers, pleading and puppy eyes were sometimes the only way to go.

“I cannot run from this.” John refused. “I won’t, I can’t.” 

“You know I cannot leave you alone.” Q told him frankly. “Your hands were trembling that’s your tell and your limp came back, we can’t.”

“I’m not your responsibility.” John reminded him tightly. 

“Doctor Watson.” Q couldn’t believe he was going to do this. “I need a bodyguard, when I leave MI6…” He couldn’t even finish.

“You want me to be your bodyguard?! Oh, I won’t subject myself to that torture, Q. I have heard the stories, you are a menace.” 

“You are thwarting your options. M will not be so nice.” He warned, frustrated.

“He knows?”

“Don’t. Don’t do that, I don’t suffer idiots very well.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? You’re not a good person. Great? Definitively…” John accused him. ‘Great men are never good.’ It crossed Q’s head. “But you don’t care for the individual, you don’t know how to. _Why?”_

“Because I made a promise and we have to make sacrifice for the people we do like…” He repeated the phrase Irene told him, more for his benefit than for John’s. He had to remind himself that he was doing this for Sherlock, for the only brother he likes and like him back. For their twenty years of cognisant friendship they had shared and still do, even if the bastard was spitting mad at him, because he refuses to push Mycroft to the wolves, because he had to remind himself that Mycroft could be a lot of things, but he was family; he was their older brother and there was no more sacred thing for Mycroft Holmes than family and he knew Mycroft only had good intentions for them, and he was just mad and guilty that Sherlock decided to open his heart and it got him killed, even if only temporarily and it was Mycroft’s fault, because he was the one that pushed him to try and develop an actual interrelation with someone whom actually liked him.    

“To whom could you have made such a promise?” 

“Are you really this daft? Use your head!” Q demanded him, channelling Sherlock without even noticing. “I promised Sherlock I would take care of you, what else?! Great work I’m doing too!” He added sarcastically. “Especially with Mycroft seemingly screwing everything I manage to actually get in the right track!” He took a deep breath and calmed himself again. 

“You promised Sherlock you would take care of me?” John asked so confused, he didn’t know how much confusion he could hold in his body. “Why would you do something like that?” 

“Because you cannot say _no_ to bloody Sherlock Holmes! Have you actually tried to do it?!” 

“Ok.” John relented that normally worked with Sherlock. Let them think they won.

“Ok?” Q blinked disoriented. “Ok, what?” 

“I will take on bodyguard duty.” 

“You need to report to M, then.” Even if the answer was what Q wanted, He still felt like he was cut at mid-rant. He wondered if now he understood how Sherlock feels a little bit more, having John Watson around. 

56

M kicked Q out of MI6, because today was Sherlock’s death first anniversary and if _Moriarty_ was watching, then it would probably get into the light _why_ his grieving brother was working like nothing happened and that might bring questions no one wants asking. 

“You really made this gun?” John asked Q, following him out of MI6. It was two in the morning. 

“It’s a Walter, I just alter them.” Q answered keeping his watch for a cab. 

“Bloody great work you do too. I like much better the sig, but this is a bleeding work of art.”

“I will get one for Christmas.” Q promised him distracted, stopping a cab. John was still blinking at the offering. He chuckled; he wondered if Mycroft just decided one day to clone Sherlock and program Q to be a genius with computers instead of deductions.  

“Where to?” The cab asked. 

“82 Cadogan Square, SW1.” Q recited. 

“Hop on, lad.” The cabbie accepted, when Q revelled the address and it was in an extremely well off zone of London. 

“You live in Knightsbridge?” John asked with his mouth hanging, getting into the cab. 

“What about that?” 

“Bloody hell, the agents don’t exaggerate when they say you’re extremely posh, do they?” 

“I’m not posh…” Q muttered annoyed. The cabbie chuckled. 

“Lad, you cannot be more posh; it is not possible. Eton?” The cabbie asked, making conversation. 

“I never went to public school.” 

“Really? Why not?” John asked curious. 

“You are just going to gather more ammunition to mock me with…” Q sulked. 

“I promise not to mock you.” 

“I went to college when I was seven.” John let his mouth hanging and the cabbie whistled. 

“And your parents sent you to wherever being _seven?”_

“I went to Oxford with my brother Merlin and his _chum…”_ Q explained to him with clear disdain to the _chum._

“Rich, smart and good looking. I’ve a daughter, if you are interested.”

“I’m asexual, but thank you for the offering, also, your daughter is gay.” He deduced. 

“Oh no… not this too.” John mumbled fearing the worst. The last thing he wanted that night was to shoot somebody. 

“Bloody Hell! How did you know that?!” The Cabbie asked laughing boisterously. John also wanted to know. It was the best part of Sherlock’s deductions, to find out where he pulled the information from. 

“You display a photo.” Q pointed out and it was then when John noticed it. “You have three children, it could be your nephews, but people don’t usually display nephews, especially all of them; in their workspace, unless they can’t have children of their own and it’s somewhat traumatic for the person. So, they are your own, only one is female and your daughter is wearing a very particular bracelet that identifies her as part of the LBGT movement.” 

“For a four eyes, you sure see a whole lot.” The cabbie made him know impressed. 

“I was trained since I was very little to notice things. ‘The devil is in the details.’ Daddy says.” 

“Too right! Too right! Well lad, we’ve arrived.” 

“So we have. Here.” Q gave him the money. “Keep the change.”

“Cheers lad! Good night!” 

“That went rather well.” John told him when they were alone. 

“He knew his daughter was gay and he was proud of it.” Q made him know walking to the front door and opening it. “I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise. I was never partial to being abused.” 

“How was it?” John got the courage to ask the question he was too coward to even think about it, before. 

“How was it?” Q returned the question without understanding it. 

“How was it… growing with Sherlock?” 

“A _bloody_ nightmare.” Q answered sincere. “He tried to cut my chest open when I was ten…” 

“Oh my god! Did he actually cut something?” John asked scandalized, but he could totally imagine a teenager Sherlock with a scalpel. 

“Not enough to create too much damage, Merlin screamed blue murder and Mummy left Sherlock sitting in the doorway; he didn’t actually stay there, though.” John didn’t know who ‘Merlin’ was, but it didn’t matter, he was too hung up on the fact that Sherlock was actually justly punished for his actions. 

“Really?” John doubted it. 

“Yes. He was high as a kite, I am afraid. He eventually had a mental breakdown.” 

“That takes me by surprise.” John admitted. There were not many things that could make Sherlock Holmes to have a mental breakdown. Q just shrugged. 

“This is the guest room. I know there are a lot of clothes and toiletries mixed up, but many agents stay here, everything is labelled. The sheets and the bathroom are clean; the maid comes once a week.” John nodded. “That’s my room; you don’t need to check me every two hours, like the bloody 00s. I don’t actually try and abscond, they are just crying babies. And this is Scheherazade, my pet.” He finished showing him, his Siamese cat; when she decided to follow them. 

“She is beautiful; she is a she, right?” John emended immediately.  

“Isn’t Scheherazade a name feminine enough?” 

“You lived with Sherlock, he called his skull Victor; it’s a woman skull… I never had the heart to tell him.” John related at him, clearing his throat. 

“He knows…” Q notified the doctor. “Her name was Valentina, she was a cousin; she was diagnosed with terminal Leukaemia when she was ten, she lived till twenty, she was _that_ stubborn. She made a will and gave Sherlock her skull, because Sherlock wanted a skull.” As simple as that… John thought. Sherlock wanted a skull, he eventually got one. “He used to tell the story, they were so proud of it, but one day it went wrong and Daddy had to interfere; hence the _Victor.”_

“You don’t seem to like her much.”

“She was the one whom got Sherlock into cocaine, she was dying; she didn’t want to do it alone. Sherlock loved her, Mummy was furious.” John just soaked like a sponge every single word that Sherlock’s brother or maybe _cousin,_ he didn’t know and he was not going to ask, Q told him about the Sherlock he never knew and would never be able to find out. “Don’t misunderstand me, Mummy didn’t care that they went and taste it, but Valentina died and then it was when the nightmare got real.” 

“I thought…”

“Sherlock tells everybody he needs it to stimulate his mind?” Q snorted. “It’s just a Freudian excuse. He does that with sex, too, few years ago. He found this bloke… oh… you didn’t know?” John was too shocked to think or do anything. “It was that ‘The Virgin’ gig was it not? He isn’t… I must admit, like all of us; he is mostly grey. But I will tell you, it was disastrous; you don’t want to know. I was forced to gate-crash the medicine faculty to fix some of the damage, because he kept refusing to go to a professional, bloody idiot.”

“You have some medical training?” John asked impressed.

“I know how to professionally stich somebody and how to pull a bullet out of people. I have never needed that knowledge, I hope I never will.” 

“And nobody cared you just crashed the classes?”

“The Dean eventually found out I was doing what I was doing, because my brother was an idiot, Sherlock was doing his doctorate on those years too.” Q keep with the story with his eyes lost in the void like recalling the event, which he might as well be… with his photographic (EIDETIC, John! –Sherlock) memory.

Brother, then. John though, suddenly feeling mad at Sherlock. There was another brother, his _baby_ brother and Sherlock never bothered to tell him about. Why? _Why?_ Why Sherlock never told him that he had a brother whom was actually likeable and seemed to worship him to the point of wanting to learn how to play the violin, because the man played it. That he actually graduated from college; had a master and a doctorate, in what? He didn’t know, was it relevant? Should he ask? 

That he had more family! He always thought there were just Mycroft and Sherlock and maybe Mummy, which was probably very delicate with her health which was why Mycroft was such a controlling prick. But now there was _Q,_ another _brother_ and _Valentine_ a dead cousin, which meant Mummy and Daddy, had siblings and there probably were Grandparents and extended family. All with curly hair and calculating eyes. History he didn’t know, he wasn’t important enough for Sherlock to talk to him about it.  _Why?_  

“They decided to ignore it and even got me a certificated of assistance and all. I did pass all the exams I took.” The doctor looked at him full with incredulity. “What? I was bored.” 

“Naturally.” John mocked kindly.   

“Good night, Doctor Watson.” He bid his goodbyes and walked to his room.

John was about to burst with questions, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to ask, because Sherlock never wanted him to know that he had a big family, a family that loved him so much they educated him on how to read people so explicitly, parents that punished him when it was necessary without abusing him, that nurtured him, that taught him. Brothers to play; a little brother that loved him to the point of worship; that he wasn’t a sociopath and that at one point of life, he was so affected by his cousin’s death; it led him to drugs. 

That Sherlock Holmes was actually human, that loved and was loved.   

“Can I know your name?” John settled when the young man was midway to his room. He was entitled to at least know the name of the brother that Sherlock entrusted John with, because Sherlock had made Q promised that he would always going to take care of John Watson and he was doing everything in his power to keep him afloat. John didn’t know what to do with all the information. 

“Quintilian, Quintilian Holmes.” Q answered without facing him and finally entered his room. 

_Quintilian Holmes,_ younger brother of Sherlock Holmes; pianist, genius with computers; a part of Sherlock he could actually cherish, because he would probably kill Mycroft if he ever saw the prat again. 

John didn’t really know what to actually do with all the information, so he did nothing.

57

Q was in his bed, he hadn’t bother to undress himself and he should, because the sheets were clean and he had worn that clothes for a whole week, but he couldn’t, because Doctor Watson was driving himself crazy outside those doors. He had relented a few hours ago and now he was on a bed, turning and rustling… Knightsbridge was so silent; he could hear the sheets rustling. He was in his last wits; he didn’t know what to do or where to run for advice. 

“Daddy…” Q whispered to his phone.

_“My little boy…”_ Siger Holmes voice filtered out of the auricular. 

“Daddy, how do I fix someone who is broken?”

_“Poor little Q.”_ Siger sighed. _“Carrying with Sherlock’s mistakes…”_

“I…” He didn’t know what to say. 

_“You cannot fix this. No one can. The good doctor didn’t have reason to live, so he lived for Sherlock and for his sake; Sherlock had to take that away…”_

“Daddy… Mycroft told John it was his fault Sherlock’s jumped out of a building and I’m making everything worst, he found out today that I’m Sherlock’s brother and I’m not that good at deducing, but I can imagine what is going on through his head. Why? Why Sherlock never told me he had a family? Was I so unimportant? It’s driving me crazy.” 

_“I will have words with My… I understand Mycroft blames himself for this Comedy of Errors, but he had no right to disburden his sorrows on the Good Doctor.”_

“Sherlock is irate with me, because I refuse to rat Mycroft out, but it’s weighing me on, Daddy. I do not want for Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s relationship to deteriorate any further…”

_“This cannot be good for your health, my dear. It was bad enough your mother forced you to take on a responsibility as big as it is to be the Quartermaster of MI6.”_

“Screw my health, I just want to make everything better or if not possible, at least; tolerable…”

_“I am Politian, my son. I lie and use people as demanded of the situation for a living… I’m not sure how to help you. Maybe you could try to offer some carnal comfort to the good doctor? Human mind is quite predictable most of the time and your similarities with S, it might help.”_

“Are you telling me I should _sleep_ with him?” Q asked appalled. 

_“You and your brothers… always with your head in the gutter.”_ The man scolded him youngest. _“Offer consolation. Sex is never to be used as comfort. Hug him, hold him; lie to him and tell him everything will be well. Play the violin; play with his good memories…”_

“Can’t you talk to him?” 

_“Do you think it is auspicating to the situation? John Watson must assume I am a man of no morals or principles, avoidant and probably an abuser. At some point he might even had decided I was just dead, to justify my absence in Sherlock’s life and his difficulties with the outer world.”_ And there was silence. _“Why don’t you speak with Annabelle? She is always a master in comfort and manipulation, of course.”_ One couldn’t exist without the other, after all. 

“She will insist I try to speak to Sherrinford. He is a pest…” Siger chuckled at his children’s stupidity. 

_“I never in my life thought I was going to say this, but silence your mind for a few seconds and listen to your heart. What does it tell you?”_

“What I would never thought _I_ would say, but that has been by far the most unhelpful advice you have given me in my life…” 

_“Shortcomings… for the Holmes family it always had been the heart. Us, Holmes wouldn’t know sentiment not even if it slapped us in the face. It was a good thing your mother had more vision that I have…”_ Q just sighed. _“How are you dealing with Olivia’s dead?”_

“I’m not dealing. I shoved it to the further corner of my mind and there will stay until it becomes unbearable.” 

_“Fair enough. Do you feel any better?”_

“Should I?”

_“No, but a father can hope.”_ Q chuckled and Siger felt a little bit lighter. _“I think it is time I have a tête-à-tête with John Watson, clear the air a bit; dissuade some misconceptions the good doctor might harbour…  After all, this is the closest thing I will have to a Child-in-Law; knowing Sherlock.”_

“Perish the thought…”

_“Ah… the green-eyed monster, metaphorically...”_ Q made some gurgles of distraught at the thought. _“You are always so protective and zealous of Sherlock, but you must allow him this, freely and without restrains; if the good doctor takes him back, my boy. One day you will find someone you will see yourself spending the rest of your life with, in any capacity and then you will understand.”_

“Never…” Q muttered annoyed. “I know one day I will convince Sherlock to marry me and we are going to be the talk of the noblesse for years to come and we will very happy scandalizing everybody.” Siger guffawed at his son’s words. 

_“One day there will be someone who will drive you insane and you will want to kill them and then decide you need them too much to actually go through with your plans of annihilation.”_

“No.” Q insisted like a three year old. 

_“Be as it may, my own. Life is afoot or was it the Game?”_ Siger asked huffing. _“Irrelevant, I despise Shakespeare. I cannot understand for the life of me, why Sherlock seems to venerate him so much. One would think Oscar Wilde would be more his venue…”_

“Bye daddy…” The boffin told his father, knowing that if didn’t end the conversation right now, only madness would follow. 

_“Oh? Right, right… I apologize for my uselessness.”_

“It is all well. Take care.”

_“You too, my dear; you too… bless you.”_ And with those words, Siger cut the line.

Q debated for a whole fifteen minutes what to do… it was amazing what his tired mind from overworking came with, especially after the conversation with his father.

Grabbing the phone again, he was never without his phone and he had a super battery that he only had to charge, out in the sun; once a week. He walked to the room where John Watson was beating himself up and without announcing himself, he introduced his body into the bed. John stood still again, so the touch of a feather would probably still break him into pieces.

“Do not misunderstand this.” Q whispered to the good doctor. “I still don’t like you. He is my brother and when he met you; then he only had eyes for you. It is never on your shoulders his suicide, but you did take him away from me… but I made a promise and I always keep my promises to Sherly…” John was still in shock. “What do you want to know? Tell me, if I know the answer, I will answer you truthfully and without reserve. Of whom do you want to talk? Do you want photos of Sherlock when he was younger, with curly hair and sticking his tongue at the camera? Do you want to know about Daddy? Do you want to know about Valentina? Do you want to know what Sherlock’s degree is? Do you want to know about the list he thought nobody knew about it, where he had the names of his hypothetical children? ‘Two.’ He had said. ‘I’m willing to make a compromise for two and a half with a dog. Gladstone, it is a fine name for a dog.’ Merlin mocked him to no end.” 

John just hugged him so hard, Q thought his ribs bruised. He didn’t say anything else and just let the Good Doctor, the man whom broke every single wall existing in Sherlock Holmes; feat only achieved by him; to use him as he pleased within reason… 

Q noticed that was probably the first time Doctor Watson had gotten a good night of sleep, since Sherlock faked his suicide to go and fight ‘Moriarty’. 

to: Quintilian Holmes  
 _You going and tattle to our parents is getting old, Q. –SH_  
 _Mycroft agrees –SH_  
 _Imagine that? –SH_  
 _Tell me why John tried to kill himself? –SH_  
 _You ignoring me, is grating on my nerves –SH_  
 _You never ignore me. –SH_  
 _Do you think you are more stubborn than I am? –SH_  
 _Mycroft is a meddlesome walrus… he just told me to stop wasting memory –SH_  
 _I hate him. –SH_  
 _TELL ME! –SH_  
 _The gall! The flight attendant just told me that if I didn’t turn the phone off, she was going to take it from me! –SH_  
 _What is this? Kindergarten? –SH_

Radio silence, it seemed the flight attendant went through with her threat. Q never bothered to reply

John was really cuddly. He might as well use the good doctor as living pillow. He smelled like Sherlock: his cologne and his shampoo and even the detergent which was sent from the Manor every month and never stopped, after all; all the Holmes and extended family knew that Sherlock was alive, even the servants, which will probably not settle well with the good doctor when Sherlock was able to return to the world of the properly living. 

The man probably even had something of Sherlock’s that still smelled of him. 

**TBC**


	15. Cemetery Drive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who notices how much "Mummy" Holmes and Olivia Mansfield look alike? I mean they kinda have the same build, white-ish hair, blue eyes and similar personalities too. Maybe Olivia's husband does is Siger Holmes! OMG! XDD

58

Q woke up at ten in the morning, not accustomed to sleeping so much. He disembarrassed himself from the Good Doctor and like a cat, left the ‘Agents’ room and went to prepare his cup of tea. Scheherazade was rubbing on his legs affectionately. He gave her tea while he wondered what would be John Watson’s state today. First anniversary of Sherlock’s death… he had it in his calendar to play pretend. He wondered if John was going to ask him to go an empty tomb, well… not empty, but you know…

Sitting in the sofa of the lounge, he put his feet on the coffee table, which would have won him a glare from his mother, but now the table was his, so never mind… with his cup of Earl Grey in his hands and Scheherazade on his lap.

Classical music began to sound in the background and Q dedicated himself to clear his mind and not think in anything.

“M will be spitting mad if he finds out I fell asleep… I’m supposed to protect you.” John Watson eventually joined the land of the living. Q was still meditating.

“It’s ok… uncle Gareth knows this is not a real job. He has some agents in the upper flat… he thinks I’m blind or something… he knows I know every personal working for MI6.” Q answered with his eyes closed, the music still going on softly.

“M is your uncle?” John asked flabbergasted.

“Honorary. He is my godfather. Tristan Dubois is Sherlock’s…” He offered, because; why not?

“Isn’t Tristan Dubois…?”

“The Queen’s brother? Yes.” 

“Jesus… you know the Queen?”

“Igrane Pendragon? Yes, I do.” He answered the questions without changing his state. “I’m banned from the Buckingham Palace if I have anything electronic with me. I always try to do something horrible when I’m there just to spite the Pendragon brute.”

“The Pendragon brute is…?” John asked not knowing if he wanted to know the answer.

“Arthur Pendragon. He is horrible. He always stole my biscuits and put gum on my hair, the Prick.”

“You call the Heir Apparent to the Throne a Prick and a Brute?”

“I do and to his face too… it’s all well, Morgana call him worse.”

“The Duchess?”

“Uhu…” 

“I think I need to sit down.” John told to no one in particular and took a seat in the first surface available.

Q ignored the Doctor again and returned to his ‘meditation’.

He sighed when John spoke again:

“Why weren’t you there?”

“Wherever you mean?”

“In the funeral.” He clarified. “Nobody was there. I know his mother is alive…”

“Was…” He winced trying to get his mind to forget about his mother again. John sputtered.

“Oh God… I shouldn’t…”

“I do not talk about it.”

“Sherlock never told me.”

“I don’t talk about her, Doctor Watson. I will not tell you again.” Q thwarted the conversation, looking at the man. John noticed that Q’s iris were a more intense green than usual, he had never meet someone with eyes so green before.

He decided to let it go.

“Why was nobody there? Not even to save face…” He returned to the previous subject. 

“Irrelevant.” His brother’s funeral was a smoke screen, the final touch to the tragedy: the grieving putative mother, the devastated soldier and the guilty inspector. Sherlock would have never allowed a funeral and his will stated crystal clear that he was to be cremated and if anybody ever tried to make a wake, there would be consequences.

“Irrelevant, your brother’s funeral was irrelevant?”

“Sherlock would have never consented to a funeral. I wasn’t in the UK.” When Sherlock called him asking for help, he had been drowning with work, but he still had to make time to talk to Molly Hooper to fake so many documents; he thought he was going to have a stroke, along with his real life responsibilities. Especially to fake Sherlock’s body, that took ages…

“You spoke of cousins and a father.” John pushed, knowing it would be futile, you couldn’t push a Holmes.

“Daddy was in Afghanistan at the time and my family doesn’t have time for these sorts of frivolities, Doctor Watson.” 

John Watson was no Sherlock Holmes, but something was fishy there. He didn’t know why and he doubted he would find out any time soon, but it was something to have present.

Q’s cell phone brought him out of his thought.

_HAPPY DEATHDAY! –EH_  
 _I’m betting Sherlock would have loved to celebrate this day, if the cost would have not been The Good Doctor. –EH_

Q giggled when he read the message and then he lifted his sight to watch Doctor Watson and immediately erased the smile; returning to his phone.

“Good news?”

“I was sent a joke.” In that moment two new texts arrived.

_How is John? –SH_

_Do not answer him. –MH_

_How is John? –SH_  
 _I can send this same message all day, Q. –SH_

He returned his sight to the Good Doctor. He replied without watching the screen.

_He seems alright. –Q_

_Are you inferring he is there with you? –SH_

_Should I send him away? –Q_

That stopped Sherlock’s messages ipso-facto.

_Good Work little brother –MH_

_GTFO, Mycroft. –Q_

“Someone I know?” John asked curiously. Q kept looking at him too much, answering without watching what he was writing; a commendable skill. It was like Q feared he would suddenly get too close to the screen and read the contents of the messages, which he wanted… he was not going to deny it, but it was impolite and his mother had taught him better.

“Mycroft being a nuisance, I am sure you understand.” Q answered looking straight at the doctor’s eyes.

“Do you know you have the same tells Sherlock had when he lied?”

“Indeed?” The computer genius spoke calmly.

“You get ridiculously calm, _empty_ and then you try to make as much intimidating eye contact as you can.” Q showed him the last two messages.

“Good work little brother. MH. Mycroft Holmes.” John read. “You are still lying.” The Doctor was so sure that he was lying that there was no way to dissuade him, because it was true.

“I, indeed; am.”

“Girlfriend?”

“My choice of husband if such things were possible.” That would shut him properly.

“Oh… I didn’t know.” John made some frustrated sounds. It was like trying to interact with Sherlock before they became friends. “Did he tell you something embarrassing?” John tried to joke jovially. 

“He was making inquiries about your wellbeing on this day.” That surprised the Good Doctor to silent. “What should I tell him?” He offered to play messenger, even if John would not know he was talking, indirectly; to Sherlock.

“Now I have you.” Q was startled by the answer. “I’m sorry, that was rude. What would he think? That I’m trying to take you away or something…” That boy could be his son, for god’s sake, what was his mind thinking? Or _not_ thinking to be more precise!

“He will get furious when I tell him that. Mycroft will get a kick out of that text!” Q’s eyes where twinkling mischievously and so was his smirk… there was Q being washed away and turned into Sherlock, in his mind.  

_to: Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes; Emrys Holmes, Siger Holmes_  
 _The Good Doctor says that now he has me. I don’t know if cry or laugh or both. –QH_

The swarms of answers came almost instantly.

_If somebody is going to replace me, you are the only person I would wholly accept. –SH_

_You might want to cry. The Good Doctor is into sentimentality. –MH_

_What?! That’s like criminal! You cannot become a replacement of S! –EH_

_Worked out a little bit too well, did it not? –Siger._

_You should not become a replacement for anybody, Quintilian. –SRH_

_Mycroft! Stop inviting Sherrinford into this! –QH_

“You make the most ridiculous faces when sending texts.” Q blinked and returned his attention to his interlocutor. “Can you come with me?”

“What?”

“To Sherlock’s grave… can you come with me?”

“Oh… I guess?” To visit a corpse made out of wax and faux hair… Q thought, such a waste of time.

_Do you still like Arabis and baby breath? –QH_

_You tell that to John and I will finish what I began when you were ten, Quintilian! –SH_

59

“You know, I have a licence to kill… I didn’t get into MI6 to make of chauffeur.” James Bond complained when he was ordered to go and pick Q from a flower shop in Covent Garden. Q just ignored the agent. “Watson, mate. I heard… how was ‘The Nightmare’?”

“Unusually cooperative.” John joked back, he genuinely liked James Bond.

“Your lives depend on my work, you know?” Q reminded them that he had control over the weapon and most of the necessities the used in their work. John just ruffled his hair affectionately. “Just take us to the damn cemetery, 007.” Q sulked.

The cemetery was desolate and a barely noticeable drizzle was falling down from the sky. John was the first one to leave the car and when James was going to follow, Q stopped him and let the man walk alone with five meters of distance.

“That bad?” James asked.

“This story is so long I would need at least two days to tell it.” Q stopped touching the agent, allowing him to resume his pace.

“How did you meet him?”

“Must we always have this conversation?” The boffin asked exasperated.

“ _Yes…”_ James thought. _“Because often you just answer…”_  They arrived to the grave.

SHERLOCK  
HOLMES

You could read inscribed in the green granite inscription in bold golden letters. 

“Friend of yours?” James asked insensibly to Q.

“Never saw the bloke before in my life.” Q answered equally apathetic. John twitched wanting to hit them both.

“So, you’re here out of the goodness of your heart?” The blue-eyed man asked sarcastically.

“I have my moments.” He snarked back. “Can’t you be a proper bodyguard and go and I don’t know… guard the perimeter or something?”

“Why? Do you want some time alone with the good doctor?”

“Would you two shut up or go away?” John snapped at them, even if they were being very discreet with their snark war.

“Sorry…” Q mumbled bashful.

“Aren’t you going to put the flowers on the tomb?” James whispered in Q’s ear, which sent shivers through Quintilian’s spine.

“Bond!” Q hissed. “Personal space.” James just chuckled, pleased.

“Why honey? You kissed me first, remember?”

“I keep telling you, that was barely a kiss.”

“Oh my god! Go and flirt the hell away from here so I can grieve in peace!” John threw them both away from the tomb. 

“Geez…” Q complained, but both the Agent and his Quartermaster went away.

_Your tombstone is awful. I hated it. –QH_

_Blame Mycroft. Green granite? Distasteful. –SH_

“I will pretend I never read that text.” James told to Q, even if he knew he was crossing a line that might make Q search for retribution; he couldn’t hold his curiosity, though. He had to take a look. He was regretting it, immediately; even if he didn’t understand the conversation, because Q couldn’t be talking to the dead, right?

“You better do, 007 or I might have to resort to drastic method to make you forget and the pills I have to do that are patchy at best.”

“What a gloomy day.” James changed the subject, without stop walking one step behind Q; looking at the sky.

“I love rainy days. I still hate London, though.” Another titbit of Q’s. It was like their words and conversations were little pieces of a puzzle and you never knew which one would make it fit. 

James suddenly noticed that two people were hiding, because they were _hiding_ and not just talking cosily. One man, brunet, tall; he couldn’t make anything else, alongside was a young woman, long hair, ginger, slender. He was going to investigate, drugs; probably… maybe something even shadier, because a cemetery? But Q grabbed him by his wrist.

“We have talked about this.” James hissed, noticing that Q had noticed the pair, before he did.

“Let them be.” Q advised calmly, without letting go the Agent’s wrist. 

“So you know them.” He accused his Quartermaster, annoyed.

“Clearly.”

Taking a deep breath, James tried to rein his temper. One day… one day… he had to remind himself that he had promised ‘M’ that he would never touch one hair of the Quartermaster’s head.

60

“Doctor Watson? Are you ready to go? I have a 00 Agent on the fritz and I don’t know what he is going to do if we stay here much longer.” Q returned to the tomb, but when he arrived. He stopped abruptly. There were a lot of people present: Molly Hooper, Mrs Hudson; Mycroft’s _Epic Bromance..._ what was Lestrade doing there? And was that the woman whom constantly called Sherlock a freak? The tension was so palpable in the air, you could probably measure it. “Ergh…”

“Oh. You have the flowers. Good.” John took the flowers and left then hurriedly on the tomb and then grabbed Q by his right wrist and tugged him away. “Let’s go.”

“Wait John! Please! Wait.” Lestrade tried to stop him. _“Please.”_

“Look, Greg…” John stopped without letting Q’s wrist free.

James noticed the commotion, but he knew it was better to let it be. He didn’t want to get rowed into what it seemed to be ‘family troubles’. Q might fool a lot of people, but James was not ‘people’.

“Look, I’m sorry. I know…” Lestrade tried to apologize to the doctor.

“No! You cannot make this better after you joined the backlash!” John snapped at the man, trying to shallow the angry tears that were accumulating in his eyes. “You are friends with Mycroft, you son of a bitch; you knew that Sherlock was a bastard and maybe I would pass you, that you believed he was a sociopath, but a liar?” John inhaled deeply. “Fuck you, Lestrade.”

“John…” Molly mumbled trying to pacify the Good Doctor.

“No Molly! No!” He was tired of just ‘taking it’. “And you! What the fuck are you doing here, Donovan!?” Sally winced when John yelled at her. “With what face do you dare to stand before Sherlock’s tomb?”

“John! Calm yourself!” Q ordered harshly. Everybody shut up, when Q spoke. “Take a deep breath and let’s go, 007 is waiting.”

“Oh my…” Mrs Hudson wept distraughtly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Hudson.” The Doctor apologized, letting Q go, which caused the boffin to immediately rub the abused limb. John walked to where his lovely landlady was and grabbed her hand delicately. “I just…”

“I know, John… it’s just… my Sherlock wouldn’t have liked seeing you so angry at the world…” The old woman sobbed discreetly in between words.

Q had never felt so awkward in his life before and he had plenty of awkward moments to pick from. He was not made to survive human interactions, why did people put themselves in the position of so much hurt? Quintilian wanted to go away and hide. Sherlock was a bastard, he could have thought something much less damaging, but Sherlock seldom thought of the consequence of his actions.

“Maybe you’re right…” The blond man mumbled numbly, calming himself. “Would you like a lift home, Mrs Hudson?”

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you.”

“It’s not trouble, isn’t Q?” John asked, looking at Q pointedly. Q just blinked disoriented, snapping out of his thoughts.   

“Are you going to go return to Baker Street?” The green-eyed young man asked. He wouldn’t blame the Good Doctor if he wanted to go home and rest, away from the clusterfuck.

“I’m supposed to stay with you until tomorrow.” Watson remembered, stopping dry.

“It’s fine, I can haul 007… if you want to go o-or I can stay there…” He didn’t know where _that_ offer came from. He didn’t want to step foot into 221B.

“Have we met before?” Mrs Hudson couldn’t refrain. She was too curious about the young man that was the spitting image of her Sherlock. She just hoped that John wasn’t paying that young man to replace the Consulting Detective or something equally outrageous, she didn’t know what to expect of John, recently. He was like a ticking bomb, ready to explode in any second.

“Oh…” John blinked, noticing that he hadn’t introduced him. “He is… well…” John spoke awkwardly. “Sherlock’s younger brother.”

SHOCK.

PAUSE.

Everybody was gaping.

“Sherlock had another brother?” Lestrade asked flummoxed. “I thought… Mycroft never…” The DI blustered, stomping with his words.

“God! There are more than two of you?” Sally asked, fearing for the world, while assessing the new Holmes.

“Don’t talk to him.” John barked; feeling his temper rising.

“Do kindly refrain from talking to me, Lieutenant Donovan. Sherlock might get off of people calling him unsavoury adjectives, but I’m not that complacent when met with abuse.” Q spoke at the same time that John did it. Sally burned magenta, because of the shame.

“Jesus, you are like a mini-Sherlock.” Greg spoke still in shock. “What did they do, clone him?”

“On my word, you do resemble him greatly. Do you have a name, dear?” Mrs Hudson asked kindly.

“You can call me Q, Mrs Hudson.”

“Q? Well, such a peculiar name…”

“His name is classified.” John mollified his landlady. “Q works for the government.”

“Oh, so you are more like Mycroft, then?” Mrs Hudson asked with a soft smile in her face.

“He doesn’t look old enough to drink. He is even legal?” Sally whispered in her boss’ ear. “He looks like jailbait to me… I don’t think we should let John around him.” Sally loved John Watson dearly, he was just such a good person for be surrounded by the likes of the Holmes… they didn’t deserved John with one being a sociopath, the other (with all the respect the British Government deserved, of course) a megalomaniac prick. God only knew what this one was like.

“Bloody hell, Sally; not now…” Lestrade answered in the same hushed voice. He went to John, to face him directly, even if that only angered the doctor even more. “Are you sure he actually is Sherlock’s brother? Mycroft never mentioned him.”

“Mycroft might have an infatuation with you, Detective Inspector; but he would rarely decide to spill his heart to you or anybody for that matter.” And with those words he finished the conversation. “Mrs Hudson, Doctor Watson, let’s go before 007 does something drastic, like exploding the place.”

He turned around and began to walk toward the car and James Bond, without caring about Lestrade’s reaction.

“Is everything alright?” James asked when Q arrived to him, about to break down.

“Whatever do you mean 007? The old lady is called Mrs Hudson. We are going to 221B Baker Street and then you can do whatever is that you do.”

“You look _peckish…”_ James pointed out, not knowing why he was instigating the issue.

“Human relationships tire me. I just want to go somewhere and hide.” Q confessed all tense, not noticing John and Mrs Hudson reached them that moment.

“I’m sorry, had I know they would have been here, I wouldn’t have asked you come…” John apologized guiltily. He knew how much chaos it wrecked on Sherlock having to deal with feelings… he never understood what to do in a fight, unless it was a snark one. 

“It’s ok, Doctor Watson. I don’t mind; just don’t expect me to repeat it any time sooner.”

“Poor boy.” She commiserated him wanting to hug him. He just seemed so much approachable than Sherlock ever was. “My Sherlock was always like that.” They were strangers just yet, so she decided just to put her hand softly on his shoulder. Then she turned to the extremely handsome man, waiting for them. “Good afternoon, I’m Martha Hudson.” The old lady Q warned him about introduced herself. 

“Bond, James Bond.” The agent accepted the hand and shook it. She had a strong shake; she was a lady to be reckoned with, James mussed. “Shall we go?”

“Yes. The sooner the better.” Quintilian said getting into the car.

“Sorry about this, mate.” Watson apologized to James, really appalled. The Agent just shrugged.

“All in a day’s job, Watson.”

Watson gave him a sheepish smile. James winked at the grieving man and pushed Q out of the driver’s seat, which he had commandeered to turn the ignition on.

“You don’t even know how to drive…”

“I can turn the ignition on, 007.” Q hissed like a cat. It was all very amusing for James the reactions of his Quartermaster.

“Well, off you trot.” He ushered the boy out of the car, so he could sit somewhere else.

“I’m not five, 007.”

That began another snark battle, while Mrs Hudson and John watched from afar.

“Are they always like this?” Martha asked curious. It was like watching a Doberman and a Shorthair cat fighting.

“Eh? Oh, yes; they’re always at each other’s throats. We are betting when they will shag out of spite.”

“Oh my!” Mrs Hudson giggled, half-surprised.

“Of course our boss found out and threatened us out with suspension… he isn’t too amused with Q and James having a relationship outside the professional one…”

“Terrible thing, homophobia…” The Landlady commented, sadly.

“Oh no! No! Far from it Mrs Hudson.” John avoided immediately the misunderstanding. Martha just looked at him, waiting to finish his argument. “It’s just… James is kinda flaky, not… _that stable_ and our boss is _emotionally invested_ in Q’s wellbeing, and well… Q’s _so_ young and James… is… broken, just like us army men. We are not the kind of men you take to meet your family: torn by war, killers… he confessed to me that he probably had slept with half of the word by now and I understand Mallory’s uneasiness, but we don’t know how these things work out, but I’m just a romantic…”

“Oh, John. Don’t be silly, if I had a daughter I would have loved meeting you and I’m sure that James is a fine man, after all he is your friend and you are an excellent judge of character.” Mrs Hudson praised the man, whom blushed softly.

“He went as far as to introduce Q a man that was blond and had blue eyes.” They both laughed. “Q was spitting mad.”

“Just get in the bloody car, Q!” Mrs Hudson and John heard James finally snapping and barking at his Quartermaster.

“Of course 007, when you feel like you are losing the argument you just tell me to shut up!” Q didn’t know when to throw in the towel, either. “What will be next? Send me to the kitchen?!”

“Eternal love, this one is…” Mrs Hudson nodded all knowledgeable.

John chuckled, greatly amused. Sherlock might be dead… but right now, tomorrow didn’t feel so bad. He had Mrs Hudson and Molly, with whom to share the pain. The New Scotland Yard, when he felt ready to forgive them, MI6 with a relevant mention of James Bond and something of Sherlock he could cherish to his dying day, his little brother: Quintilian.

to: Sherlock Holmes  
 _Did you enjoy the Good Doctor defending you like that? –QH_

_No when I should have been there, screaming and kicking; alongside with him. –SH_

**TBC**


	16. 0013

61

The ride to Baker Street passed with a sulky Q and a sulky James, which only added to the entertainment of John and Mrs Hudson. 

“I made pie; it is so very delicious… would you like some?” Mrs Hudson offered to the three boys.

“I would love to taste that pie, Mrs Hudson.” John accepted eagerly.

“We should…” Q tried to speak, but James didn’t allow it.

“I’m with John, I would love pie.”

“The hell you will be staying here, 007. If you are feeling lonely I’m sure you have a black book of shame hiding somewhere.” 

“Now, now boys… there is pie for all of us. There is no need to be rude.”

“Yeah, there is no need to be rude, _Q.”_ James taunted as usual. 

Q just huffed like the snobbish person he was and let himself be guided by John and Mrs Hudson with James finishing the committee, after parking the car on an allowed curb side. 

Bake Street was still full with Sherlock presence, it worried Q a little, because even if Sherlock was not really dead, John should try to move on and he couldn’t do that with everything that belonged to Sherlock, surrounding him like this. There was Sherlock’s tripod, his microscope; even Valentina was still there… and he doubted the doctor was into decorative school. The thing that left him reeling was the happy face made out of bullets and yellow paint. Sherlock’s doing no doubt. 

Sitting on the sofa that was Sherlock, was a man; Q noticed and what a handsome man he was. This didn’t usually happened to him, but he wondered if the man was interested in men that where younger than him, he might not be that good with deductions, but knowing himself being bisexual so young, he did bother to hone his ‘gaydar’ to perfection and he knew the man wouldn’t have issues with another man coming after him. The way his hands moved and fixed his suit jacket was a tell-tale scream to those versed in deductions, really. The man ported a Caucasian face, a jaw to kill for; honey coloured eyes, big hands, smartly coiffed hair and sharply dressed in a suit, very much like any double o agent in MI6.   

James and John pulled their Walther, aiming at the man, before anybody could say or do anything. Q rolled his eyes and zapped them both on the back of their heads.

“Must you always do this?” Q asked annoyed. 

“Stand back.” James forced the boy to stay back, without stop pointing the gun; aided with his leg. The stranger was immovable. 

“Oh my…” Martha enunciated, not knowing how to proceed.

“You must be Mrs Hudson?” The man spoke calmly, giving at disdain look at the two men aiming their guns at him. 

Q thought that man’s voice was tingling him in all his right places. 

“Oh! You must be the tenant who wanted to rent 221C? Mr Moran?” Mrs Hudson asked hesitant, especially when neither John nor James seemed to put their gun downs.

“Yes, I’m Damian Moran, please call me Damian.” The man smiled seductively, offering his hand to the old lady.

“Martha, then… pleased to meet you.” She accepted the hand and shook it. “My… I’m not sure 221C is right for you, Damian dear…” The man looked like he belonged in a five stars room and not in a flat full of mould and wall filtrations.

“I’m sure it will be fine, Mrs Hudson.” The man assured Martha without losing the smile. “I hope I’m not intruding anything? The tenants of 221A let me in.” The man explained how he got in to the flat. 

“It’s fine, Damian. I just thought you were coming later…” Martha apologized a little bit obfuscated. “I was visiting the graveyard today.” 

“My sympathies for your dearly departed and it is no trouble Mrs Hudson. Quite cosy this place is.” Damian dismissed very understanding of the situation. 

“Let me get my boys ready and I can take you to a tour to 221C, would you like tea and pie?” 

“I would love to.” Damian accepted pleasantly.

“It’s all fine James, John… he is a new potential tenant, he is interested in the C flat.” The landlady pacified her guests.

“It is all well Martha, I’m sure they are just doing their job… sniffing dogs, no doubt.” Q had to use all his training not to guffaw, until he pissed his pants. The initial outburst he couldn’t avoid, unfortunately. 

Q just cleared his throat, hiding his smirk with his sleeve when his snort called the attention of everybody present. 

“My apologies.” He offered returning to his deadpanned default state. 

“Are you a tenant?” Damian asked the younger man.

“O-oh, no. I… um~ I don’t live here.” Q stumbled shyly over his words and he had to bit his tongue, because he was making an idiot of himself. 

“Shame, such a pretty thing like you.” Damian flattered the boffin which made Q blush like a really awkward teenager and made John and James frown. “Damian Moran.” He introduced himself offering his hand. Q looked at the hand and then at the man’s eyes. 

“Jonathan Miller.” Q answered in kind, but didn’t accept the hand. 

“Fake name?” Damian asked, not a little bit offended that Q didn’t shake his hand. 

“Elementary.” He admitted and James wanted to strangle Q with his bare hands, was the kid an idiot? What was he playing at? Especially with a stranger!

“Pleasure.” The man greeted him, with all his sex appeal turned up to eleven, which made Q’s knees go all wobbly… he was only human after all. He needed to take a picture and then go and drool all over it with Moneypenny.

 _Oh My God… I am yours to command._ Q’s mind provided him. 

“So what do you do for a living?” Damian asked Q, sitting again on Sherlock’s sofa, fixing his trousers to keep them from wrinkling; all exuding elegance and sensuality.

“You grab him, I punch him.” John proposed immediately disliking the man that with a bunch of bad luck was going to be his neighbour.

 _“You_ grab him, _I_ punch him…”  James exchanged places with disdain. 

“I am physicist.” Q answered eager. “I am also a computer engineer and you?”

“I had the rank of General in the Royal Army Force, Honourable discharge.” Q chuckled after hearing the man declaring himself military. He was stuck in the word of militia. “Not found of military people, _Jonathan?”_ Damian asked with a glint of something, from Q’s point of view; exciting in his eyes.

“No. It just seems I have a type.” 

“I hope you are all ready for tea and pie, dears!” Mrs Hudson returned animatedly with a tray, filled with the goods.

62

007, 006, 004 and 0016 were all in Q-Branch, because they didn’t have anything better to do. Q had given them each one a controller and put in the big screen an emulation of a shooting game, so they would stop being a nuisance. 0012 and 0018 had also been there, but 004 was kicking everybody’s arses and being the sore looser they were, they decided to go and raid Q’s liquor cabinet, made exclusively for them. 

_“GET ME Q!”_ The 00 Agents in Q-Branch heard that 0013 screamed for their Quartermaster. 004 paused the game momentarily.

“0013…” The boffin stuttered, tensely. They were in a pinch a he didn’t know how to guide his Agent away from there. 

“Excuse me, 0013, you cannot ask for me when you are being an obnoxious prat!” Q, who was using Danielle’s computer, because he had given his throne up; so the 00 Agents couldn’t create chaos in MI6 without a mission, spat annoyed.  

“Poor 0013 doesn’t know what is coming for him if he keeps with that tone…” 004 haunted along with her other fellow workers. All the agents sniggered, in agreement; resuming the game. 

“How many missions does this 0013 has had so far?” 0016 asked trying to aim a headshot at 004 with the help of 006 without much success. 

“Five, I think?” 006 answered, trying to get the woman to stay still in the game, so 0016 could shot her. 

“Way overdue, a tenner that he dies.” James began a pool; knifing 004 at last after 0016 and Alec were both killed by 004.

“With Q on his ear?” 004 pointed out, looking back for a few seconds, noticing that most of Q-Branch was around their Overlord. 

“Q can only do so much if you don’t listen to him.” 0016 pointed out. “I’m with James.”  

“Right 0013, turn right. I won’t say it again, 0013.” 

“He dies.” 006 agreed with his fellow-man, after hearing Q speaking. “He is a bloody pinch and he isn’t heeding Q-Branch.”

“I wouldn’t follow Q-Branch if I was on a pinch.” 0016 shuddered. “Look where it got James, with a bullet to his shoulder for his troubles.” 

“No even if it’s Q, pulling you out of the pinch?” 004 asked all seductively, caressing his jaw with a manicured finger. 

“0013 don’t go there!” Q tried to stop the man to going a fall into the trap.

“You said Q-Branch, not Q… besides Q is always too busy trying to keep 007 alive to help the other 00 Agents.” 0016 sulked. 

“You don’t need to sound so jealous Adrian.” James mocked killing him with a gun point-blank. 

“Shut up. You don’t know how bloody lucky you are! First you had Boothroyd and now Q! We are the ones that have to suffer with the useless minions!” 

All the 00 Agents bounced startled, when one of Q’s minions screamed like seeing a ghost. They all turned around. Q-Branch in general was pale and the boffin that was acting like 0013’s Quartermaster looked like he was going to throw up.

“Oh My God.” Danielle sobbed sick.

“Georgina… cancel med and evac…” Q ordered impassible, doing his best in trying not to flinch. 

“He could still be alive, Q!” Georgina refused to call the back-up off. Q turned the monitor; the worst thing was they had visual contact. “Oh my GOD!”

All the 00 Agents went to see what the hell just happened. 0013 was displayed in the footage impaled. He still had his eyes open and blood was pouring from his mouth, staining the floor. 

“God…” 004 said appalled, pulling ten pounds from her pockets and giving them to 007. 

“This is not anybody’s fault.” Q resumed talking. “We told him not to go there and thwarted security three times when he didn’t listen. It was bound to happen, running out of luck with him being this stubborn.” All Q-Branch was silent listen to their Head speaking.

“We should ban the 00 Agent, number 13…” Julia mumbled uncomfortably. “0031 works as well…” 

“This is the third one we lose this year… let’s not even go to past years.” One of the older minions pointed out. It was known that the 13 position was cursed.  

“Hell!” German of Q-Branch exploded. “Not even Q was able to save him! This was his dying day, declared in the Book of Death or something!”   

“Hey! This was not Q’s fault!” Anne jumped to defend his friend immediately.

“Not saying he is! I’m saying this was bloody fated, you dunderhead! Q pulled 007 from a fucking hail of bullets in the middle of bloody nowhere with no visual contact at all and 0012 from a human trafficking ring, while having one broken leg in four places!”

“God, I think he had a wife…” Georgina mumbled, hiding her head in her hands. 

“She is pregnant…” Q finished the idea, creating an overkill with those words; still looking at the blacked out screen. 

“Oh my god…” 

“I-I’m sorry…” 0013’s Quartermaster pleaded in a wreak. “So sorry…” 

“It’s ok… this is your first time dealing with a 00…” Rose comforted the man. “They do that, not listening to you. It’s fine.” The minion just nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“Can we at least bring the body back to British soil?” 

“Impossible.” Georgina told everybody, tying fast in her computer. In that moment all the computers had a glitch that showed a shower of 0s and 1s. “Ok, that was weird… Q, sir?” ‘S’ asked waiting for orders on regards of the glitch, which was probably an attack. 

“Let’s take five.” Q decided ignoring Georgina’s silent question. “What time is it?” Q asked rubbing his eyes. 

“Four o’clock, sir.” One of the minions answered. 

“Go home, except for all senior personal and all the handlers with an agent in the field.” Q stood with a sigh. “You don’t need to come back tomorrow Caleb; you can use your sick leave.” Q made the man know. 0013’s Quartermaster nodded, numbly. “I need to speak with M.” 

“Do you want me to go with you, Q?” Rose asked supportive. 

Everybody sucked a breath when Q turned to look at Rose’s to her eyes. Q’s eyes were so green, most of Q-Branch though they would glow like a computer screen in the dark. His rictus was stone cold and a lot of people didn’t really want to hear what he was about to say.

“0013 was not one of Mummy’s pets, Rose. He is irrelevant.”  And with those harsh words he went away in a search for his uncle Gareth. 

“I feel like I just lost a big chunk of the story.” 004 mused, watching attentively; how the Quartermaster of MI6 walked with premeditated steps out of Q-Branch. 

“Hush you.” Rose directed herself to all the 00 Agents present. “Please, return to your silly games or make yourself useful _away_ from here.”

63

Q arrived to M’s office without haste; the first thing that greeted him was Moneypenny with her polished ways and a wicked smile, she usually had plastered in her beautiful face. 

“Coming to see M, Q?” Moneypenny asked winking at him.

“Yes.”

“You are in luck, he is available. You look a little tense, babe. What happened?”

“0013 was killed in action twenty minutes ago.” 

“I own a bill to Tanner.” Moneypenny winced searching for her purse and rummaging for the notes to pay the man with. 

“You bet about 0013’s death?” Q asked surprised. Moneypenny looked at him sheepishly.

“Q, babe. Can you blame us? He was in his fifth mission already, Tanner told me the position was cursed when the new 13 was replaced, I told him I didn’t believe in such superstitious nonsenses, hence the bill.” She showed Q the 100 pound note. “Too gory? I have heard about the curse. They die the most horrible deaths… do you know what they say?”

“No, what?” Q asked with a sceptic rictus in his face.

“That 0013s die to pay for 007’s seeming immortality.” Eve informed him, sending a text with her phone to Tanner that said: _‘I have your bet money. 0013 is dead.’_

“Moneypants…” Quintilian tried to complain about such a ridiculous idea.  

“Now, now, babe. M will see you now.”

Both, Moneypenny and Q looked when the door opened and Gareth exited the office without his suit jacket and his sleeved rolled up.

“Who died?” Mallory asked his godson when he saw him standing there. Quinn was not the one whom did leisure visits if he could avoid them, so… something horrible happened, _again._

“0013.” The younger brunets answered at the same time.   

“Bugger… again? This is the third one this year!” M complained incredulous. “Who was handling him?”

“Caleb Dowson.” Q answered the question immediately. “I handled the last twenty minutes of the mission.” He reported the information fully.

 _“And he still died?”_ Moneypenny and Mallory asked as shocked as nothing in life. Q winced. 

“No, no, no, babe… not like that. It’s just you pulled James Bond out of the frigging Rub' al Khali desert without visuals and in the middle of a hail of bullets, nothing gets more improbable than that. Boy… I’m beginning to believe about this so-called curse.” Moneypenny made them know, looking at her boss. 

“Word.” Mallory supported Eve’s speech. “Can be the body retrieved?”

“Impossible, trust me sir; I tried.” Q told his uncle half-apologetic. “He was almost cut in half and it’s in the core of the complex. I did erase every single byte of information on his person, though.” 

“Well, there is that. Did he have someone?” Mallory asked, knowing that Q knew everything about every employee of MI6.

“Pregnant wife.” Q informed clinically. “Sixth months, delicate condition; differential diagnosis: suspected Preeclampsia, but they have not found the protein, yet.” He kept on with the report, while tinkering with his phone. “She is probably going to lose the child when she finds out.” The younger man looked at them now. “If she doesn’t have heart failure first.”

“Have you heard of _too much bloody information?”_ Mallory reproached the child.

“My apologies…” Q mumbled joining his hands on his lap still holding his phone. 

“The PM is going to love this…” M huffed annoyed, returning to his office. Moneypenny and Q looked at each other. 

64

Q-Branch was silent, which was an odd occurrence. All the minions and baby interns were working in whatever they were assigned to, while The Overlord signed the hardcopies paperwork, which might explain why Q-Branch was so silent… Q hated to use honest-to-god ink, it was so prehistoric. The Q-Branch line rang and before anybody could do anything. Q hit the button that would answer the call so hard, a lot of people thought it broke. 

“Yes?” Q tried to mask his growl, annoyed.

 _“Paperwork?”_ Eve’s voice greeted him from the other side. Q just growled again. _“So sorry, babe… What are those brutes thinking, torturing you with paperwork?”_ More growling and whining on Q’s side. _“Rejoice, my beloved Overlord! Head Department Meeting at two o’clock!”_

“Are you kidding me? I don’t only have to put out with hard-copy paperwork today, but I also have to attend to a Head Department Meeting?” Q sighed pained, wanting to cry a little. 

_“Aw~ don’t be like that, Q babe. Everything will be fine.”_

“Why in all heavens do we have a meeting so rushed?” Q asked Moneypenny with his forehead resting on the cap of his (overly posh, overly snob, overly Mycroft) fountain pen (he had stolen the pen from his brother, because it was Mycroft’s favourite pen and his brother was being a miserable little git a few years ago… it grew up on Q and he never gave it back. Mycroft was still searching for his pen, to the current day; it was greatly amusing for Merlin and himself). 

_“You’re the only one who goes through MI6 questioning orders, Q.”_ Eve reminded him. Q just sighed again. _“Meeting Room, two o’clock. Don’t be late, please.”_

65

Q was in the meeting room. The meeting was to commence at three o’clock, but Q was summoned earlier, because all the 00 Agents that were on a mission, were to be present electronically. Gods knew how much time took Moneypenny to organize such a thing, especially when eight 00s were currently deployed. 

“I met this bloke in a pub, he was terribly geeky…” Eve was keeping Quintilian company, while the Head of Q-Branch installed everything necessary for the meeting. “You would have liked him.” Q just hummed non-committal. “I told him about you. Would you like to meet him? He is thirty years old, not too old… a little bit chubby and messy on the side, but really sweet.” Q just looked at her like if Eve suddenly had grown a new head. “He is actually straight, though. I just thought you might need some _normal_ friends…” 

“ _Normal friends?_ What does that even mean?” Q asked the woman flabbergasted, trying to decide where he was going to plug the wire he currently had in his hands.

“You know, somebody you can nerd out and talk about your silly comic heroes and Japanese series and said person not being an underling, doesn’t that get awkward?” Moneypenny asked scrunching her face cutely. “I mean… you order these people, you giggling about the new doctor or drooling over Ironman’s proverbial brain, can’t be conductive for your street creed rapport, right?” 

“Moneypants, stop trying meddling with my life.” Q growled moving now to the video bin which would display the deployed agents. 

“Good afternoon, Ms Moneypenny, Q.” Mallory let them both know that he was there so they would shut up about their private lives; especially when there were strangers around.  

_“Sir.”_ They both answered, standing up to show some respect; noticing there was another man accompanying M. 

“Stand down, people.” Mallory ordered to them, forgetting he was not in the army. “As you must have noticed, this gentleman here is the new 0013.” He introduced the new 00 Agent. “Mr Moran. My secretary: Agent Eve Moneypenny and they Head of Q-Branch, Q.”

“Yes, we have seen each other before, haven’t we, _Jonathan?”_

“Oh my god! Is he _Tall and Gorgeous?”_ Moneypenny spluttered. 

Q had been drooling about some random bloke and he had been stalking him by Facebook. The woman took a hand to her lips when she noticed what she did. 

“Moneypenny!” Q reprimanded the woman mortified. 

“Tall and Gorgeous?” The new 0013 Agent asked with _that_ crooked smile. 

Mallory gave them the evil eye and they cleared their throats. 

“Eve Moneypenny.” The mocha skinned woman introduced herself with her usual sexual appeal, offering her hand.  

“Damian Moran. Ms Moneypenny.” He accepted the hand, shaking it. They both smirked and the man turned his attention to Q, whom could not fit in his embarrassment. “Do I get to know your real name now?” Moran asked, getting really close to the Quartermaster. Quintilian blushed, hunching a little, because of the overt coming onto him. One thing was to drool from afar and other was to act on his attraction, which he never did anyway. 

Mallory cleared his throat loudly, again; so they would cut it out. 

“Sorry, but my name is classified.” Q made the new 0013 know, taking a few steps back and then going back to finish with the installations. 

“Hands off, Moran.” Mallory warned the new 00 Agent, harshly; when Q was out of the hearing range. 

66

“Good Afternoon everybody.” Mallory greeted every Department head and all the 00 Agents. “As you can imagine, we have a new 00 Agent. His name is Damian Moran and he will be working with us for the foreseeable future…” Then he couldn’t finish his idea, because the 00 Agents decided to make some ruckus. 

_“Um~ I would totally do him.”_ 002, a blonde woman told from the screen. _“What says you 004?”_

 _“Totally. Dark, Tall and Gorgeous? That’s right down my alley.”_ 004 smirked with her red lips, winking. 

“002! 004!” Mallory scolded the ladies. 

_“I would do him too…”_ 0012 haunted from the screen. He was one of the younger 00 agents with dirty blond hair and pale grey eyes. 

“Not you too 0012!”

 _“Da! We should plan an orgy!”_ 006 supported the motion, smirking darkly. _“James?”_

“I’m going to sit this one out, if you don’t mind.” James notified Alec from his seat in HQ. 

_“That bad already?”_ 0016 asked sniggered. 

“Ok! That’s enough!” Mallory barked at all of them. “0013.” 

“Sir?” Moran answered, finding everything very amusing. 

“I do hope you don’t join this… _thing…_ that doesn’t have a name _.”_ All the 00 Agents cheered with their outgoing personalities

“Wouldn’t dream on it, sir.”The new agent tried to disguise his chuckles. 

“Anyway. To your right, Mariselis Antonini; she is the Head of Medical. Following, the heads of R&D and Communications, which right now defer to Q-Branch… but I felt it was impolite to let them out…” The men just grunted with annoyance. All the old 00 Agents sniggered, terribly amused. “Assorted 00 Agents, which you will meet on a later time. Rose who is the Head of the Administration department, but she also double as ‘R’ in Q-Branch, we currently have two second-in-commands in Q-Branch, extenuating circumstances; you will know then as ‘R’ and ‘S’.”

“Pleasure, R.” The man smiled and the woman just nodded curtly.

“Wow, R that was glacial.” 0018 pointed out with dramatics. 

“Shut up, 0018.” R shut him up with a glare. The other 00s sniggered. 

“The Head of Human Resources, Bill Tanner.” Mallory introduced the man, whom nodded politely. “007 and 001 get special mentions.” Mallory singled them out, ironically.

“Yes, I know the blond one… James, right?” Moran asked leaning on the table.

“Yes. Name’s Bond, James Bond.” 007 introduced himself apathetic. 

Everybody was already trying to figure out what happened with those two, because if 007 didn’t like you, there was a damn good reason for it and that was worrying all the other agents, including Mallory, Tanner and Moneypenny. M kept introducing people. 

“And last, but not least, it seems you already know our Quartermaster…” M introduced the last person in the room, which was standing with the computer. “Q.” 

“Yes, I already had the pleasure.” Moran admitted, smirking. “I look forward working with you, _Quartermaster_.” Q wanted for the earth to crack open and to swallow him whole. 

_“Get in the line, 0013.”_ 0016 warned him, when the leering got a little bit too much. 

_“Yes, besides, he is 007’s Quartermaster.”_ 004 made him know. 

“Oh? More’s the pity.” Moran complained without losing the, now; creepy smile. Mallory had to clear his throat again, loudly. “My apologies.” 0013 offered to his new boss.

“You will receive an email, regarding certain conducts in MI6, 0013.” The Head of MI6 made the man know with his sweet, but dangerous voice. 

“I will be sending it, as soon as we get out of this room, M.” Moneypenny agreed with Mallory, noticing something weird.

“Hands off of the Quartermaster, I get it.” Moran accepted defeat, but nobody swallowed that. 

“I really hope you do.” 001 let him know, as calm and impassible as usual. 

_Cavemen Neanderthals…_ everybody heard Q mutter under his breath typing like a madman in his keyboard after a ping of Q-Branch, notifying him of a storm coming.

**TBC**


	17. Q's Birthday

67

“Pills.” John announced when he arrived to Q-Branch, to the Throne’s Overlord. 

“What?” Q asked startled lifting his head to look at his brother’s flatmate. 

“Pills.”

“I’m fine.” The Quartermaster made him know returning to his computer. 

“It’s not a matter of fine or bad. They will do you good…” Q of course, didn’t pay attention. “You have not ingested anything other than Earl Grey and one slice of pizza, which was ordered by Q-Branch yesterday night; in the last four days.” 

“Why are you stalking me?” The young man asked John, looking at him sulkily. 

“I don’t really have time to stalk you, I’m afraid that’s Rose’s job.” John sighed when Q decided to glare at him moodily. Sometimes he wished Q and Sherlock wouldn’t be so damn similar. “For the Queen’s sake, Q! Go away, breathe some fresh air and do yourself a favour and eat!” John reprimanded the damn infant. Q, of course; channelling Sherlock just huffed, turning his head away. 

“Eating is for the weak…” He muttered rebellious, returning to his computer. 

“Eating is for your body not to collapse on us and send Q-Branch on a blender, because said body decided to give up on you!”

“I have never done that.” 

“I didn’t say you have fainted on us just yet, but do you think bleeding from your nose is healthier than fainting?!” Q just gurgled in frustration. That happened just once. Doctor Watson was sounding so much like Mycroft right now; he just wanted to hit the man with his keyboard. “What the hell do you do here so much? Don’t you have video games to play?”  

“It’s two in the afternoon, Doctor Watson. I do have a schedule…”  He sneered, getting that posh air that John hated in Sherlock too, because it was only a defensive mechanism.

“Of the fourth day you have here without rest!” 

“I do rest…”

“Do you call passing out on your desk ‘resting’?” 

“Hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Yes, because you are a bloody infant! Try to do that with forty years. Moneypenny told me to escort you outside of MI6. There will be a company car, waiting for you.” 

68

Q passed all the way from MI6 to Knightsbridge in silence. When the car arrived, he grabbed his bag and walked to the entrance of the red building. Sighing he put the key in the keyhole and entered the flat, deactivating the alarm and the security. 

“You have not been here before.” Q told the new ‘A’ agent that accompanied him home. “There is a room that most of the agents use, if you need to use the bathroom or sleep. Everything is clean, now, get out of my way and everything will be fine.” He muttered annoyed with the innocent man, who just nodded, but Q wasn’t even looking at him.

At seven o’clock Q was about to jump out of the window, had he not lived on the ground floor. He had cleaned the kitchen even if said kitchen was immaculate, he played video games, but he lost so frequently; he was about to throw the remote at the television. He was so bored, he had ordered food: _French food,_ he hated French food, but he decided to give it a chance again (he had to call for pizza in the end and let the ‘nobody’ with him, eat the French food). He chased Scheherazade like if he was five again, under the sight of a very consternated agent, he tried to nap, which… impossible mission. He upgraded again the ‘mouse hive’ and he attached some mechanism to expel pellets, because why not? In the end, he decided to suffer zapping through the mind numbing television.

It was the ringtone of his phone that startled him awake… he didn’t even know when he had fallen asleep. He grabbed the phone and looked at the hour. It was twelve in the afternoon. He had slept so much? He had a text message waiting to be read, he sighed and incorporating himself to seat on the couch he had fallen asleep, he read:

_Happy Birthday, Q –SH_

That startled Quintilian for a few seconds. Was his birthday already? He didn’t like that day, so he pretended it didn’t exist and without his mother and his oldest brother instigating it, he could get away with it. It seemed that Sherlock was feeling melancholic. He didn’t understand the logic behind birthdays.

_Did you need something, S? –Q_

Q never received an answer and to be honest he wasn’t expecting one. He threw himself off the sofa and went to get ready to return to MI6… he wouldn’t stay home and sulk, because that was what he did on his birthday: be a little shit to everybody and sulk. 

69

Everybody, but Q; noticed that Eve Moneypenny entered Q-Branch with a small cake on her hands; the candles depicted a 24 which were already melting. Every minion was keeping a keen eye on the movements of the woman, whom carefully lowered the cake on the table. Of course she arrived to the Overlord’s throne, why else a person like Eve Moneypenny would enter Q-Branch?

_“Happy, Happy Birthday Baby…”_ Q heard Moneypenny’s sexy voice sang, exalting him. 

“Moneypenny!” The young man hissed, not believing that her friend actually decided to blurt his birthday for everybody to hear. 

“Come on, babe. Don’t be like that.” Eve winked at her friend. “It’s your birthday! Smile, make a wish and blow the candles!” She told him with a big smile. 

“Moneypenny…” Q tried to stop the woman.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Medical first?” Everybody hear that 007 spoke, entering Q-Branch.

“Not in your most remote dreams, James. Do you know what your little Quartermaster promised me if I didn’t return this to him?” 006 was bleeding from seven different parts of his body and seemed to had a twisted wrist. 

“Alec! James!” Eve welcomed their colleagues.

“Um~ cake!” Alec drooled. “Who is the celebrated?” 

“Go away Moneypants!” Q demanded his friend harshly.  Everybody was now even more attentive when Q called Eve Moneypenny: ‘Moneypants’.

“You should just be nice, shut up and blow the bloody candles, before I decide to force your face on this cake, Q-tie.” Moneypenny threatened the young man, beaming a smile. “And make a wish while you’re at it, will you?” 

“I wish you would stop being a yenta.” Q wished glaring at Eve and blowing off the candles. “And don’t call me Cutie, Moneypenny!” 

“Yay!” Moneypenny cheered a little, winking. 

_“Da! S dnemrozhdeniyatebya, Quartermaster!”_

“006! You are leaving blood all over Q-Branch!” Q seethed, noticing the honey blond agent bleeding from every pore. “And you bloody brought me half of my prototype.” Q looked like he was about to be lighted on fire and also spit it.

“Da… my apologies, Q. Had I know your birthday was close, I would have tried harder.” He tried, chuckling nervously; trying to know how the Quartermaster knew he brought his new weapon in pieces and not all of them. He had a whole speech prepared to sooth the boy and now it was all for naught. 

“You…” Q growled poking the man’s right pectoral with his index finger. 

“Argh!” Alec groaned.

“The next time I am going to send you to the field with a bloody slingshot and let’s see how much you like it!” He threatened, pulling all the pieces from the agent’s pocket and noticing the destroyed prototype. It was a good think he always worked with two prototypes at the same time, because bloody 00s! 

“Now, now… no groping the bleeding agent, Birthday Boy.” James mocked Q, moving his friends out of the way, worried of Q’s revenge. 

“Who wants cake?!” Moneypenny asked everybody, ignoring the boys. After all boys will be boys. Danielle and Rose were helping her cutting the cake and putting them in some plastic dishes. 

“I want cake!” 006 let them know, happily delusional and more important: half-dead. 

“Honey, what you want is to go to Medical to avoid dying of blood loss.” Eve told him like Alec was five years old, smiling cutely and then ignoring him.

“This is Q-Branch, please, send personal… I have a 00 agent bleeding all over my floor.” Q muttered annoyed, grabbing the phone and calling for a doctor. 

“Here is your portion, Birthday boy!”  Eve shoved in his hands a plastic dish with cake. “And don’t tell me you don’t like cake, because you would be a lying liar, besides I went all out of my way to buy your favourite.” Moneypenny veiled threatened Q. 

Q didn’t have any more choice than to seat on his throne and eat cake while medical came and began to wage war trying to take 006 from 007’s arms to take him to medical, while the agents fought like Alec was going to be taken to North Korea to be tortured and not to a few floors above to be healed.  

“Let 006 go, Bond! Here! Have cake and let medical take care of the man, for god’s sake!” Moneypenny growled annoyed making Bond let Alec go and giving the man a dish with cake. Medical looked at Moneypenny as if she was an Archangel from the heavens above. 

“I don’t want to go! NYET! James!” Alec pleaded, extending weakly his right arm. Moneypenny moved her right foot blocking James’ way, the heel of her stilettos shinning menacingly under the bright lights of Q-Branch and locked her eyes with the blond agent. James cleared his throat, loosening his neck a bit; under the prospect of those Q-Branch’s _improved_ black heels up in his arse and meekly ate his cake.

“This is absurd…” Q mumbled appalled, eating cake and watching the cleaning crew appearing seemingly out of nowhere to clean the trail of blood 006 decided to leave everywhere. 

70

Q was standing on the urinal, relieving himself. It was a good thing they ate the damn cake and everybody left him alone, although now; everybody he met in the hallways congratulated him, it was _annoying_. Q was halfway _done_ when he felt the door opening. He registered the disturbance, but immediately discarded the information, it wasn’t need it; he just kept to his business… that was until the other person in the bathroom stood right behind him. 

It was not 006 or 0016, which were the ones crazy enough to get so close to him, especially while he had his cock outside his pants and on a bathroom, a public one. He had recorded their smells and presences down to every nuance like he had done with 007 when he was younger; he could distinguish all them in a dark room by smell alone. 

What annoyed the Quartermaster was that couldn’t even finish… it’s that nobody knew how hard was to pee in public? Q shoved everything in his pants and zipped his trousers, before anything else could happen. 

“I heard that your birthday was today.” 0013, Q identified when the man spoke… hot air caressed Quintilian’s neck, sending a shiver through his body. Q stayed as still a he could, trying to discern what was happening.

“Do I need to call for help?” Q asked deadpanned turning his head a little to the side, wanting for the man to stop standing so close to him. No luck, Damian took a step forward and now their bodies were basically touching. Q’s senses attacked him from every side, trying to assess the threat. 0013 was cold, his breath was minty; he smelled softly of cedar wood and tobacco; the man’s heartbeat was negligible, which meant he was tranquil and he was not excited in any way, he would be able to feel _it,_ being so close to the man. 

“Why, Quartermaster, I am doing something you don’t want?” Damian asked with that dark rumble that tickled in every right spot of Q’s brain. The boffin could feel the man’s fingers ghosting over his clothes. Damian was not touching him, just softly outlining his side. “I assume congratulations are in order?” The man chuckled still in his ears.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing this…” Q made the man know, still as devoid of any feelings a he could. 

“Well dear…” Damian began, putting his fingers on Q’s dressed sternum to close completely the space between them. “It is so very difficult to get you alone… Ms Eve, R, M… your assorted minions and let’s not even talk about all my 00 colleagues…” Damian explained to Q in his ear, chuckling again. “You’re very much in demand.” 

“I would like for you to let go of me and go, right now.” Q ordered the man calmly. “I do find you attractive, but you are a 00 Agent and I am your Quartermaster. I’m sorry if I led you on, but I am not willing…” He decided to put a halt to the situation before it could escalate; he had been more times than he dared to count or speak of in that position… especially after he lost all of his baby fate and his infantile _goofiness_ , which was mostly inexistent, to his mother’s charging. He didn’t even know why. Mycroft was the only one with fat to lose and now he was pretty ok, under the attentive watch of Anthea, of course. He was divagating. Why did he have the bad habit of divagate in these situations? It was ridiculous.

“Pity, I was planning on giving you a great birthday present…” The man taunted, returning Q to the present. Could that even be called taunting? There he went again. “Do you like to be tied up, Jonathan?” 

“Go. Away.”

“Is it really because I’m a 00 Agent or just because you don’t trust my reasons? Which would be more logical, knowing you. I have heard you get a little frisky with the 00s… or just 007, really.” The man chuckled, with dark humour shining in his eyes. Q decided to take action pushed the man out of his personal bubble with his eyes abnormally green and menacing. Damian took note of the change, but didn’t say anything or outwardly acknowledged it.

“You do this again and I will go to M and accuse you of harassment. 007 and I have a difficult relationship, but at least I know he wouldn’t do something like this. Do not get behind me at any time or you will be electrocuted for your troubles. Have a good day, 0013.” And with those harsh words he left the bathroom, feeling a slight trembling on his hands. 

Human interaction was not something that Q was capable of, successfully. Had he been another person, he would have a one-night-stand and part ways like colleagues, _no biggie…_ but it was him and this was going to end _badly_ , if he let it ran free. 

80

Q was on the roof terrace of MI6. He had his head on his left hand and his elbow on the wall and the other hand on his stomach. Why did he felt so horrible… _violated?_ He didn’t understand, 004 had tried to do the same, but it didn’t feel the same. There was something unsettling on what just happened. He chuckled strangled; he was going to begin to believe that it was indeed his fault… that he was jailbait that he couldn’t let himself lower his guard not even a little, because then he was just _asking for it._ Yes, he did do some moony eyes to 0013, but he was sure to have told 0016 he was really attractive and the man never got that _close,_ figuratively speaking. All the 00 Agents had troubles with personal space. He shivered. 

“Q, is that you?” Quintilian heard 007’s voice; exalting him. The man was far away, probably close to the door. Q made a grimace and then erasing all the turbulent feelings from his face, he straightened himself; returning his glasses to his eyes, ready to turn his face to deal with the 00 Agent. He was not comfortable right now, giving his back to anybody. “What are you doing here? Never pegged you for being one of getting some fresh air…”

“I do need fresh oxygen 007 from time to time.” He bantered back. Known ground. Just what he needed to level his frazzled nerves.

“From where I was you looked like you were going to puke.” James made him know, walking toward him. “Stomach-ache? Headache? Both?” 

“Had I wanted to throw up, 007. I would have gone to the lavatories.” He sneered to the man curtly and prim. “What are you doing here?” Q demanded turning his sight to London, still keeping all of his periphery and his other senses on Bond.  

“Back at you, Q. I always come here, best sight of London. You sure, you ok? You’re not usually this… _aggravated.”_ James decided in the end. Every Agent and he meant _every one of them_ knew that something was wrong when Q stopped being his mechanical-self and became bratty and snappish. “It’s because of your birthday?” James pushed, knowing he was setting himself for a whole world of proverbial hurt. 

“I am not particularly fond of the day. It is ridiculous…” Q muttered the last sentences, as always; the puzzle of Q’s words. It was a good thing that James was an Ace in Crosswords.

“Something happened to reaffirm your hate for your birthday?” James asked suspicious. It was uncanny how the normally ultra-rational boy became so stressed when something he couldn’t control to his standards happened. 

“007, if something had happened, you would be the last person I would tell.” Q spoke, changing his defensive state and turned to that calm and methodical, but fake; voice that told James that he was trying to get away to what he was saying, especially because Q never made that much eye contact with anybody. It was like a tic, the fact that Q tried to avoid eye contact unless there was this kind of situation where he was trying to be intimidating or was lying… or both, in this case. 

“Well, I couldn’t imagine what could’ve happened in less than thirty minutes, but ok.” James accepted, putting his hands in his trousers’ pockets. The wind that blew was sharp and gelid.

“A lot of things can happen in a minute 007…” Q muttered closing his parka a little more, trying to get warmer. 

“So… something _did_ happen.” Of course something had happened; it was stupid of him to even consider that nothing happened.

“Go away 007.” Q ordered gritting his teeth.

“Don’t see your name stamped here, Quartermaster.” James snorted at the boy. He knew when Q clamped and when that happened, not even Gestapo would make his tongue loose.

“Of course you wouldn’t… my name it’s classified. It’s not like I can go and write it everywhere.” Q retorted with venom. 

“Will you tell me what happened?” The Agent decided to return, instead, pressuring his Quartermaster; not falling in the snark war. 

“007.” Q told his Agent, walking; stopping two steps away from the blond man. “Mind your own bloody business.” And with those words, Q resumed his walking and opening the door he went away.  

81

Q walked calmly to his Uncle office and when he arrived there, Moneypenny was sitting on her desk smiling at him. 

“Hello, babe. What’s up? Want to speak with M?” She asked nibbling one exquisite manicured nail. 

“That was the plan. Is he available?” 

“I’m afraid he isn’t, darling. But he should be, _soonish…_ you can wait if you want.” Q nodded and sat in front of the woman, hunching his shoulders and looking at the floor. “Something happened?” Eve asked distracted. “It’s not like you coming to talk to M, willingly.” 

“I just want to talk with M, about my security.”

“Again trying to abscond, little Q?” Moneypenny sniggered, looking at him, putting her elbows on the table and her chin on the back of her hands. 

“No…” Q answered detached. 

“Good, because M isn’t going to change his mind.” She winked at her friend. “So, what are we going to do tonight? You are fairly healthy this week… you think you could have some vodka and some dancing?”

“Moneypenny.” Q began, feeling a little bit touchy.

“C’mon, babe! It’s your twenty fourth birthday! You will reach a milestone next year!”

“Then you can bugger me about this next year…” Maybe next year he would not be at MI6 and his nightmares would be a thing of the past. 

“Are you seriously going to stay today and pull all-nighter in your birthday?”   

“That’s the plan. 007 gets deployed the day after tomorrow. I need to get ready and specially to mentally prepare myself to deal with him.” Only thinking about it made Q have a breakdown. Eve sniggered when she saw Q, hiding his face in his hands; sobbing a little. 

“I would have thought your relationship would be less stranded by now. You must know that James Bond is not that bad, Q. Give the man a chance.” 

“What that man needs is to mind his own business and get a cyborg as Quartermaster.” 

“My poor little Q-tie boy.”

“Don’t call me…” Q hissed but was interrupted by M and his appointment leaving the room.

“Thank you for coming, sir.” M spoke lending his right hand to the other older man. 

“It’s was a pleasure as always, Mallory. I will see you next week.” The man shook the offered hand. 

“Of course, sir.”

“Miss Moneypenny, you are a sight to the sore eyes.” The man told her kindly. 

“Thank you, General.” Eve smiled standing up and shaking the man’s hands. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.” He said, noticing the young man. “You, I don’t know you. You remind me of that old codger of Holmes. Sames eyes…” The old military man noticed. 

“General, this is our current Quartermaster.” M introduced his godchild. 

“Bloody hell, are you allowed to drink, son?” Q twitched annoyed at the old man’s words. The General turned to look at M. “Starting early? Next year I will come here with a dummy. I thought I heard this was the best Quartermaster MI6 had seen so far…”

“I assure you General that Q is the best we have. He graduated from the Academy in a year and it’s one of our best shooters after 007. We are in excellent hands.” M guaranteed the General, the man only snorted. 

“That 007, I wanted to keelhaul him half of the time. It was a relief when the other M spirited him away to MI6. You’re Siger’s boy?” The man asked directly, straightening his collar. Q nodded. “You mute?” 

“No, sir.”

“Good. You must be the so famous Baby Holmes, then.” That only made Q wince even more, hoping Moneypenny didn’t take to call him ‘Baby Holmes’ now.

“I have a name, sir.”

“No doubt, you have one, son.” The General ignored Quintilian and turned to M again. “You should keep this one under heavy watch. Such a pretty face, he just screams to psychopaths: ‘Come and get me’.” 

“Sir, everything will be fine. Q is capable of handling himself.” It was now M time to wince, before the General’s words.

“Whatever, I always see soldiers showing more than they should; making pouty faces and then they end crying, when something happens.” Moneypenny wanted to object. “Send my regards to that bastard of Mycroft.” The old man asked. “Baby Holmes, Mallory, Miss Moneypenny…” He bode his goodbyes and went away with a slight limp. 

“Happy Birthday, son.” M congratulated his godchild, trying to ignore what just happened. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“Aw~ poor Baby Holmes.” Eve mocked giddy with amusement. 

“Moneypenny!”  Q reprimanded his friend. 

“You wanted something, Q?” 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” 

“You have ten minutes, Q.” Mallory told the Quartermaster, watching the hour. 

“I know I can’t do anything about the security…” Quintilian began his speech. 

“Not this again…” The man sighed, preparing himself for the rant. 

“No. I just don’t want 0013 assigned as my security detail outside of MI6, put 007 on it if you must.” Q explained immediately. Lesser of two evils… at least he knew where he stood with 007.

“Did he do something to you?” M immediately stood on guard and Moneypenny gave two long strides and began to check for wounds. Q gave two steps back to avoid the manhandling. 

“No. But he is getting a little creepy and I don’t want to take chances for this situation to happen again…” He half-lied feeling really inadequate. 

“I see what I can do, Q. But unless you have something concrete against him, more than ‘he is being a little creepy’ especially after you flirted with the man…” Q was going to open his mouth to protest, but he couldn’t. “007 told me after the reunion, Q.” 

“I barely flirted with him! I gave him a name and my working field!” Q seethed, incredulous.  

“I asked Doctor Watson, because when you are part of the issue, you have to take 007’s words with a grain of salt. But the Doctor told me you did actually act very flirtatious with Mr Moran.”

“What?! You went to John Watson to ask him if I was flirting with a 00 Agent?! How I was supposed to know former 0013 was going to be killed and that a man I randomly found somewhere was going to be the new 0013!” 

“The issue is Q… it happened, you opened the possibilities…” Mallory explained kindly, trying to be the less crass possible about it.

“Now, now sir… you cannot just blame the harassment on Q, because he smiled and showed a little bit of proverbial skin.” Moneypenny interfered, appalled with the accusations M was making. 

“That’s not the point, Moneypenny. He should know better than to be speaking with unknown people! This is not the first time we had had to deal with this problem.” He remained them. It was a prickish move, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“It’s not like I go through life trying to incite people!” The younger man said to his godfather all defensively.

“I didn’t say that! But you are an easy target anyway!”

“How the hell I’m an easy target?!”

“Just go to Q-Branch and stop doing moony eyes to 0013 and you will see how he will stop trying to get on with you, Q! And stop mingling with the 00 Agents outside your work!” M reprimanded him, trying not to get exalted.

Q just left M’s office after that, gravely frustrated and even more upset than before. 

“Sir, with all due respect you deserve… that was uncalled for.” Moneypenny made Mallory know when Q was out of hearing range. “You just basically just told him that it’s his fault he is being harassed.” 

“Moneypenny! Always is something happening to Q, ALWAYS! Getting kidnaped; harassed, god helps me but there was the aborted attempt of rape in the academy! You were there! For the Queen’s sake! You were the one that deflated the situation.” Moneypenny winced, shifting uncomfortably in her stilettos.  

“It’s still not his fault… he was sixteen and ridiculous gullible when it happened!” She wasn’t even kidding, when Q entered the Academy he was like the poster child for Posh Sheltered Princes. He knew everything, being the insufferable know-it-all he was, from a textbook perspective, but empirically he was basically virgin in _everything_. It was like coming out of a Harlequin novel. “They were thirty something and stupidly drunk!” It was just a clusterfuck, it couldn’t be helped; it was really the sum of the circumstances (and Q’s awful luck) pooling together, the couple thought Q was free game. Though, it wasn’t like it mattered much, the Holmes Family _destroyed_ them. She didn’t even know what happened with Q’s assailants. She hoped they were alive, at least, because… the thought was too medieval to even consider it. 

“Tell 007 and Watson to keep an eye on 0013 and for everything sacred do not tell them that we think he is harassing Q!” He ordered his secretary returning to his office stressed. Something happened to Q, and the Holmes’ (plus John Watson) were going to a pitch a fit, to be _polite_ about it. 

Mallory served himself a drink at the thought of something happening to his Godson. As if it wasn’t hard enough to mind, _alone;_ the Kindergarten, to also have the Queen’s hound, the Duke of Sussex; the British Government, The Consulting Detective and the General Commander of the Royal Guard; all asking for heads to roll, because the famous and extremely overprotected (and mostly know to the commonwealth as) ‘Baby Holmes’ had one hair out of place. 

_God helped them, then._

82

“Hey Q… heard it was your birthday.” John Watson appeared in Q-Branch at ten in the afternoon. 

When Q told him he needed to forget having a _regular schedule,_ he didn’t think it would be this bloody awful, having to stay every single day until ungodly hours of the night, working _hard,_ it wasn’t like he was just bumming around in the office. Medical was the busiest area in all MI6 after Q-Branch, because something was always happening in Q-Branch, mostly the Agents being idiots, which in consequence made Medical busy too. It kept Sherlock out of his mind, though… except when he was creating new forms of chemically killing people. He knew it was necessary, but he still felt bloody awful. 

“You should have told me.” He reproached good-naturedly, threading carefully knowing he was walking in thin ice, because Q was really a clone of Sherlock and their parents didn’t notify their children of the fact.   
  
“I don’t celebrate my birthday. People found out, because Moneypenny cannot mind her own business…” 

_Nailed it._ John thought, chuckling sadly in his mind. Sherlock Holmes revamped. It was uncanny, really.

“Are you going to do something? Do you want to go and grab some drinks at a pub?” John threw out of the window any resemblance of subtlety.

“I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t smoke and also I don’t partake in dancing.” 

“Sherlock knew how to dance foxtrot.” John pointed out. If Sherlock knew some dances, albeit the most formal ones; then Q knew then too. 

“Let me rephrase that, Doctor: I have been forbidden from drinking alcohol, I cannot risk tobacco with my health and I despise any form of contemporary dance that includes unknown sweaty people _touching me.”_ Quintilian made the doctor know. John chuckled exceedingly amused. 

“Q honey, never change.” The Doctor cooed at Quintilian as if Q was actually three, messing with his already messy hair. He had passed the last hour running his finger through his hair; it was going to be a pain to untangle it. At John’s actions, the youngest Holmes brother just sulked and returned to his computers, because if there was something the Holmes could do, was _sulk._ “Remember to eat, ta? Wouldn’t be amiss to sleep either…” He was rudely ignored, which only caused the man to chuckle and make all the minions in Q-Branch consider if Doctor Watson was all that sane. “Night, Q. Happy Birthday, if you change your mind, you have my number.” He only received some sulkily grunts.

**TBC**


	18. The Duke of Sussex

83

It was a mere coincidence of life that John Watson had to leave MI6's quarters at lunch, because that day he didn't bring anything to eat. London was a sight, no clouds could be seen on the sky and the sun was shining brightly, lifting everybody's spirit… unless you were a Goth or had some vendetta against the sun, of course.

John should have taken the weather as a bad omen, but apparently; he was too gullible for such subtle warnings from the universe.

He stretched fully, smiling and letting the sun irradiate him like a sunflower. He inhaled deeply enjoying himself very much. That was when he noticed that a black Audi had been following so blatantly, it was moving at his pace. The first thing it crossed John's mind was the failure of the motor of such expensive car, he then sighed; his lunch ruined again by _Mycroft._

"John Watson." An old man stopped him, midway. He was dressed sharply and in some way it was like an older and male version of Anthea or whatever her name was, but instead of a Blackberry he had a tablet in a leather case on his hands.

"Wait, you're not one of Mycroft’s." John pointed out immediately also noticing the car was an _Audi_ and not a _Sedan._ He was not going anywhere; he had learnt his lesson with Irene. He went directly for his concealed gun.

"I assure you the gun is unnecessary, Dr Watson." The old man assured him, impassibly.

"Look, I don't want any trouble and I work for the government and I have this nifty tracker…" He warned the guy, but was interrupted before he could pull his phone out to alert Q-Branch he was being abducted.

"You can do whatever makes you feel better, Dr Watson. The Quartermaster and M have both been notified of your absence." The man reported him, diligently.

"Am I supposed to take your word for it?" John snorted, still decided if pulling his gun or not.

"Agent John Hamish Watson, you have been hereby summoned by the Duke of Sussex." The old man warned/notified him, ceremoniously. Those words were like a punch to John's guts. The first thing he did was to trip even if he was standing still and to stutter and splutter, watching how his IQ points dropped to dangerous levels. "So you can come in your own volition or you can be forced."

"Th-the Duke of Sussex?" John sputtered feeling his throat drying. His first instinct was to run, run hard and fast, but it was a poor choice given that they had a car and John did not. Then he considered for a brief two seconds calling Mycroft and pleading desperately for help. He discarded the idea even faster than running away, which was when he remembered that Q wouldn't ask his soul in exchange for help.

"Correct. The Duke of Sussex wants to speak with you, Dr Watson. He is waiting in the car." The old man showed him the Audi with completely blacked out windows. Even the windshield was, well… _black._

The _man_ was already in the car, John felt like hyperventilating.

"Oh god, I'm going to end in the Tower of London." John thought in crisis, despairing; not knowing what to do or where to run.

"Did you do something that would lead you to be put in such position?" The man asked with his eyebrows arched.

"What?" John asked flabbergasted.

"Did you commit a crime so grave that it would be worthy of the Tower of London?"

"What?! No! _Oh God!_ I said that out loud!" John despaired a bit more, because that was the only thing he could do: _despair_. The old man just rolled his eyes. “I… crap, can I at least go and change?” John pleaded, because one couldn't hold a conversation with the Most Influential Man in The Commonwealth dressed with faded aquamarine and (to his mortification) yellow fishes medical scrubs (he had been wearing very manly, dark grey MI6 standard scrubs when a patient decided to bleed all over him and now he had to dress with those, which belonged to one of his female colleagues). Why those things happened to him? He was just going to run quickly to a bistro for food and then he was to return to work, but now he was being told that he was being summoned and by the Duke of Sussex, no less. Fuck his life.

“Dr Watson if you would stop wasting our time and get in the car, I would be eternally grateful.” John read loud and clear: get in the car _or else._ John's throat was about to constrict, he was sure of it, in between being too star-struck on the prospect of meeting such a legend like it was the Duke of Sussex and the paralyzing fear, because that kind of men didn't waste their time with people like _John Watson;_ the only logical conclusion was that he was going to be executed and he didn't even know why. Oh god, he was going to die, _again._

"I need an inhaler." John made the world know, because what else could he do? The old man clearly out of patience, shoved him into the car. John noticed that the Audi had been refurbished inside. Instead of the normal two seats in the front and the row in the back, the car was fitted with two rows of seats facing each other, plus the pilot and co-pilot seats which were obscured by a dark window. The old man must have taken the co-pilot seat, because in the back were only John and the alleged Duke, when the car began to move.

A man was indeed waiting for him, inside the car. The first thing that assaulted him was that his summoner had Q's and Mycroft's eyes. He also had Sherlock's curls, his rich brown hair colour: clearly Q's shade of brown; was salted with grey and was all neatly held with a high quality black velvet ribbon. The man wore crispy and clearly tailored clothes and had an elaborated pistol grip cane imbued with silver and gold and he would put his hands on the fire and take a guess that it was a concealed weapon. 

Imposing and ageless was the aura that exuded the Duke of Sussex, of his identity John had no doubt. John didn't have a stuffy collar, so he could loosen it; he still fiddled with his clothes like a youngling in shorts, feeling like throwing himself out of the car.

The eyes of the Duke of Sussex were even colder than Mycroft’s and John was sure the man knew every dirty secret he kept close to his heart, like the time he wanked to the image of Irene Adler and Sherlock, both sweaty on a bed of sultry, silky sheets of burgundy, candle lights and chocolate might or might not have been included in the sin. He still was deciding to whom he was wanking and he decided not to internalize it, it was that or to scream; why in all heavens was he raving? Oh god, the man was totally reading his mind with that aristocratic eyebrow cocked so elegantly. He was going to die…

"You seem awfully stressed… would you rather be called by your current rank or by your occupation, Agent Watson?" The man asked him all regal movements and his voice was like the ultimate Sherlock. Why did the world keep torturing him? The last thing he wanted to think was of Sherlock, but everything reminded him of _him._ His frigging brother, they colour of the sky… the smile face on the wall…

"I-what?" John sputtered returning to reality. He wanted to hit his forehead, what was happening to him? He wasn’t this much of a moron! The Duke chuckled and John has never been so confused before in his life.

“I could call you Mr Watson, of course; but it does sound terribly rude, one must never assume anything of another. This remind me of a time when I called this person a Mister… _she_ turned to be a dragon of a woman whom demanded to be called a Lady." John just blinked idiotically. “It was a great source of pleasure for my late wife, of course. I have never seen her deriving so much pleasure from my discomfort, so blatant before." The man chuckled again, reminiscent; tapping his cane twice. "I also highly dislike when people refer to me as the Duke of Sussex, so rude, would you not agree with me? All of my former paterfamilias had been the Duke of Sussex of whom are your referring, my first born? My father? His?” It was unnecessary to note that John had not idea of what was going on.

“I-yes, please don't kill me?” _Seriously John? Don’t kill me? That was the best you could come with?_ He was going to end without a head… he was sure of it.

 "Honestly…" The Duke snuffed snobbish, it was like watching Mycroft speaking; it was very disconcerting, because the man had a face much similar to Sherlock’s than to Mycroft. "Do you think I would have come here to sentence you to death? Don't be ridiculous, son.”

“Then why would you want to talk with someone like me?” John would really love to be put in context.

“Dr Watson, I do not suffer fools readily and I know you are not one, so stop this silliness and use your head. You know who I am.” The man scolded him.

"No, I don't." John immediately shot, defensively.

"So when you were watching me, were you not thinking that Sherlock shared my complexion or that Mycroft and Quintilian shared my eyes?"

"How did you…?" John asked startled.

"Please Dr Watson, who do you think taught Sherly to read people? The dog?"

"Ergh… who are you?" He decided, feeling like he just got on the most intricate roller coaster in existence.

"I am Siger Holmes, abdicated Paterfamilias of the Holmes Family and the Duke of Sussex."

"I… Oh Sweet God, you are one of them… cousin? Thrice Removed Family?" Siger rolled his eyes.

"You might want to try Father or Daddy that is how I have been nobly dubbed by my progeny." John blanched. This was a fucking nightmare. No, he refused to believe it. Father Holmes had to be dead and his death had to have been gruesome, because nobody spoke _ever_ of Father Holmes.

"You are… Sherlock is…?" John's wants of jumping out of the car returned with vengeance. "I need an inhaler." He pleaded this time, because he was not prepared for this shit.

"Unless you are asthmatic, I don't see why would need one."

"Oh god, you are going not going to execute me… you are going to take me to a basement and torture me, aren't you?" John was going to end dead, he just knew it.

"Where do you youth pull these nonsenses? We have people for that sort of things, Dr Watson. I most certainly neither have the time nor the inclination of such pursuits."

"John." The Doctor corrected Sherlock's father, and how hysterical was that? Sherlock Holmes’ Father, in the flesh and very much alive… what in the bloody fuck? He almost regretted having opened his mouth.  
  
"Very well, John. You might call me Siger if it is not going to take you to an early grave."

"I couldn't, sir." John sputtered immediately. The British and the Soldier in him were curling in despair of thinking of calling the closest advisor of the Queen by his name, like if they were old mates. Oh GOD! This man dined with the Queen _every fucking day_ , he imagined them in the palace drawing room with ridiculous expensive teas and cups and crumpets, which would explain Quintilian’s loathing of English breakfast in teabags.  

"Once a Soldier…" Siger chuckled amused, John blushed like a teenager, wholly mortified. He had never before felt embarrassed of being a military man. "How is your sister, John?” The man asked conversational. “Is she in good health? Micky told me she was getting out of a particularly messy divorce..." John sputtered when the man mentioned Harry. "Is there something wrong, dear one?" The man asked, calmly.

"Wh-wa? A… N-no, fi-ine, great she is… great… wa-wait, Micky?" He blinked disconcerted, while his brain put two and two together and then chuckled.

"Good to hear…” The noble ignored his jibs and Mycroft’s nickname. “I know how hard siblings can be. I, myself; we are seven siblings: four sisters and two brothers and what it seems an unhealthy amount of cousins. You can imagine Christmas dinners…"

"Sev-? What?! No. I cannot!" That amount of Holmes under one roof? He shuddered of only partially contemplating it.  

"That was exactly always Olivia's reaction."

"Oli-what?"

"Ah yes, everybody knows her as Mummy or M… but that is before your time in MI6."

"Wait, are you telling me that Sherlock's Mummy, yo-your wife was _Olivia Mansfield,_ former M?"

"Yes, why? Did you know her?" Siger asked, greatly curious.

"Once.” He admitted shuddering again. “She metaphorically ripped us a new one, me and my unit in Afghanistan. I still remember that speech, it was bloody scary. My men were cowering in fear and she never even raised her voice. I promised myself to never cross her path again…" He never formed an image of 'Mummy' in his head, because: who the hell could have spawned Sherlock Holmes? But that woman…? He shuddered again.

“I see.” It was the non-committal answer of the man.

“Where the hell are we going?” John asked appalled, looking from the window to Siger’s hazel-green eyes, when he noticed that they had all the intention of leaving London.

“We are going to Sussex, of course.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you would appreciate the 50 cent tour of the Holmes’ Ancestral House…” John could swear that he just heard Siger use sarcasm.  

“I have to work!”

“I am not taking you to China, son; we are just going to Sussex and Gareth knows you are with me, you will be home in the late afternoon; at the latest.”

“What if I don’t want to go anywhere?!” John protested. It was getting to his tits being manhandled and pushed around by the Holmes.

“Are you saying that you don’t want to go and nose around where my children grew up?” John looked at the man sulkily.

“A warning would have been nice.”

“My apologies, John. My schedule doesn’t always allow me the courtesy of warnings, which my children discovered throughout their lives. But I am accustomed to temper-tantrums, I will just tell my driver to turn around and leave you where we found you.” Siger found highly amusing the despairing war occurring in John Watson. He was so curious to know more, but on the other hand he was tired of being pushed around. “You are lucky Olivia died, before she could actually make time to go and pound you. She would have waited for you two to be in the most compromised state and barge in, just to be able to _nag.”_

“Is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

“I am a Holmes, John. We are great in many fields, human interaction is not one of them, I am afraid.” John admitted defeat, his shoulder slumping. “So. I heard from Quintilian that you have been despairing over Sherlock’s indifference for a while now, which surprises me greatly, because you of all people should know how much Sherly objects to sentiment.”

“I don-He what?”

“What you have to understand in this family is that Quintilian bears most of the mistakes Sherlock committed and most of the time he doesn’t know what to do with the burden.”

“I…”

“So ask. Sherlock didn’t tell you anything about him, because to him it hardly matters. You despair for my son, because he didn’t tell you that he studied in Eton and then jumped as quickly as he could to Oxford to study Chemistry, because Olivia always was intransigent and Sherlock could do his silly Consulting Detective gig after and only after he had at least one PH.D. Which was a waste of money, that childe only remembers what it allows him to solve cases and thwart New Scotland Yard and everything has just been wiped forever more from his mind. Is this the sort of silliness you wanted to know?” 

“I-I… I don’t know…”

“Well, if you have any more questions, just ask. We are pretty sure of knowing what you think of us, Sherlock’s family; it doesn’t take a genius to divine your thoughts. Tell me, are you in the phase where you thought me in a devastating death or I was just simply an abusive bastard?”

“I-I would’ve never…” Siger looked at him with those green eyes that dissected his soul. “Yes. I thought you died in a horrible death and that was the reason nobody even mentioned you, sir.”

“I am to suppose you don’t even know about Sherrinford or Emrys?”

“Wh-who?” John stuttered confused. Siger rolled his eyes again.

“Sherlock has four brothers. In chronological order: Sherrinford Holmes, he actually is the current Duke of Sussex, but he lives in Switzerland with his wife, Annabelle and their daughter, which causes him to be unable to perform his duties, but that’s classified even for you. Mycroft Holmes, he works in a minor position in the government…” Finally it was John’s time to roll his eyes. Minor position in the government his arse. “He is married and has dizygotic twins. One boy and one girl, respectively.”

“What?! Mycroft is married!?”

“And has twins, yes.” John’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets. “Then comes Sherlock and a few years later Emrys was born.”

“Emrys?”

“You might know him as Merlin?”

“I… might… have… Oh wait, yes. Q said something of going to Oxford with Merlin and his chum… whatever that means.”

“Yes, this chum he is referring about. Emrys. He is… in simple words: he is Prince Arthur’s babysitter, they have history and let it go, for your sanity.”

“This is ridiculous… what? Are they shagging? Is that what are you trying to say?”

“Boy, if I knew, it would settle my head, but with those two it’s harder to know than with Sherlock and you.” John sputtered again, but his tongue was so tied, he couldn’t even open his mouth. “One moment Emrys is crying his heart out for Arthur and the next they are speaking of the Prince new conquests, we have stopped even asking about that relationship.” 

“You know? I had a normal life with normal friends and normal stuff, until the moment I met Sherlock Holmes and his stupid scarves and his stupid cheekbones and the British Government and I am not GAY!”

“You hit in a two point fifty and I don’t put you in the three completely, because of your utter denial of the situation, in the Kinsey scale; you are an army man, you were in war, you are not fooling anyone. Not to mention you are bi-romantic and apparently just over the heels for one Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m not bi-romantic and I’m not in love with Sherlock!”

“Do not worry so much about what you are or not are. You will always be safe in your not-so-little crush; besides, Sherlock is grey with the occasional sadomasochistic vein that pops up from time to time. In fact you are the closest thing he will be able to have in life akin to a ‘sexual’ relationship. If you would pull your head out of your denial, he would even agree to negotiate your baser instincts.”  

Siger was speaking of Sherlock in present tense, but John was so upset and so deep in denial about everything that he didn’t even noticed that particular fact and he hadn’t caught either that he was too always speaking of Sherlock in present, especially around Q, whom was the worst offender of them all.

84

“Why was nobody present in Sherlock’s funeral?” John asked Siger, after being in silence for a whole twenty minutes. Curiously, just like with Sherlock; you needn’t to fill the air with meaningless words to be comfortable.

“The funeral was tolerated only for your sake and his stripper landlady, which he seems inordinately fond of. He established in his Will that there would not be any acceptance to any type of wake or funeral to his name.”

“Gods, are you all irremediable mad? I bet he didn’t even attend to his mother’s funeral!”

“There was no body, ergo; no funeral.” John almost had a heart attack. “There were some eulogies from MI6, but nothing more.”

“My Lord Siger…” The Duke’s PA, lowered the black window and spoke, before John could have a breakdown along with an aneurysm. How could the man speak so… so devoid of everything of his wife? “We will be arriving to our destination in five minutes, sir.”

“Thank you, Winstor.”

“I have arranged for tea and refreshment, should you desire, sir.”

“I will have it in mind.” The old PA just nodded and returned to his former position. “Where were we?” Siger asked dispersed.

“Q, you never spoke of him.” John changed of subject noticing that Siger honestly didn’t remember what they were talking about.

“Oh, Quintilian. He came as a shocker, that one… we found out when Olivia was seven months pregnant, it shouldn’t even have been possible, she was already barren, but… well, life happened. Raising him was… an education, even after having raised four children.”

85

When they got off of the car, John’s jaw touched ground. House? They called that bloody castle a ‘House’?

“Well, here we are… eighty rooms full of dull and boring history.” Siger announced, rolling his eyes and walking towards the massive wood doors. John followed not so far behind, noticing that even if everything was in a pristine state and had a very classical style, the touch of technology could be seen to the trained eye. Disguised cameras and all sort of camouflaged security surrounded the property.

“It is mostly Quintilian’s doing.” Siger told him, like reading his mind. John hated when Sherlock did that. “There is nobody else in kilometres, which explains to you why Sherlock never learned not to play the violin at ungodly hours of the night. We never cared, as you imagined, we all are irremediable insomniacs.” John had to concede that point to Siger. “Do not get too concerned if you go to the East Wing of the manor and see scorching marks. Sherlock and Q decided to play with Uranium once and almost killed themselves and the house. It was mostly my fault, of course… I should have known better than to leave Uranium where Sherlock could get it with minimum effort.”

“What was it that you told me you did, again?”

“I never offered such information, John, but I am an inventor.” He explained plainly. “I have several masters and doctorates, of course, but I _invent.”_  

An _Inventor…_ only Sherlock’s father would have such occupation.

“What do you invent?”

“Have you been to Baskerville just yet?” John opened his mouth, but then he clamped it again. Siger snickered discreetly at John’s futility. “Half of the projects in there, I instigated them; one way or another…” Were the man’s cryptic words.

“Sherlock begins to make more sense, every passing second.”

“That was the idea, son. Come along, we need to finish this if you want to get to 221B today.”

“Where are we going?”

“To meet my forefathers.” Siger informed him. John frowned, not understanding.

“Are you all immortal… or something?” The Good Doctor asked laughing very lost.

“I see why Sherlock and Quintilian like you. You are indeed cute when you are confused. Come along, John.”

86

John was in his office in MI6, watching the screen of the computer, fondly. He was so enthralled by the screen that when a _pling_ was heard in the room, it almost sent him jumping to the ceiling. Trying to get his heartbeat back to normal, he dragged the pop-up that appeared in the lower right corner of the screen to the centre to be able to read the message. It had to be from Q-Branch; because nobody else was able to send pop-ups to appear out of nowhere in unsuspecting people’s computer…

It was Q:

 _You can keep the photos if and only if you swear on your life and the lives of all your descendants that you will never show them to another person, never… NEVER. Or I will find every single copy of these photos and then I will send an assassin to end you. –Q_  
  
John guffawed until he had tears in his eyes. This was precious blackmailing material and he had already printed them and sent copies to his parents in an envelope; of course, for safe keeping, he might or might not also sent them to his ex-sister-in-law; Clara, telling her that he didn’t mind if she peaked the envelope, they were just some old photos. Not even Sherlock could deduce that and he had made a lot of back-ups. He should be able to survive the Holmes’ ire… he was prepared for everything in order to keep ALL the fifty, horribly embarrassing photos; Siger Holmes offered as a compensation for all the abuse he had been put through so far.

In the screen, which he had put as a wallpaper were all the Holmes’, including Mummy. Everybody seemed as disgruntled as John imagined they were, after being forced to such aggravation. The seven people in the photo all wore a ridiculous Christmas themed sweater that according to Father Holmes: a grandaunt, famous for her crazy lady cat tendencies had forced them all to wear the sweaters and then proceed to take a photo. It was bloody hilarious!

Sherrinford Holmes looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole and never be returned back again. Mycroft had a feeling of resignation plastered all over him, looking at the offending garment. Sherlock looked like he was going to murder someone, except Father Holmes admitted that he was blushing a rather unflattering shade of magenta, terribly embarrassed. Emrys (or Merlin. [Like the wizard? Yes, John; like the wizard.] As everybody knew him). Had a toddler Q in his arms, both greatly enjoying the, John had to admit; horrible jumpers they all were forced to wear.

His phone informed him that he had an email. He frowned and read the message:

 **Mycroft Holmes**  
to _me_

**{ENCRYPTED MESSAGE}**

_Dear Doctor Watson,_

_I hope I do not have to remind you that even if I hold a very minor position in the government, I have contacts_ **everywhere** _and Anthea knows where you sleep… but nobody would dare to make Daddy mad and apparently they were offered as reparation._

_We are watching you, Agent Watson;_ **keenly.**

_Respectfully yours,_  
_Lord Mycroft Holmes_

_This message is private and contains classified information, if you received this message by mistake, delete this message immediately; legal retribution could be taken, if instructions are not deliberately followed._

John could almost understand the sick satisfaction James felt every time he did something aggravating to their Quartermaster and got away with _it._ It was highly invigorating to see Mycroft so powerless, brought down to none other than his own father. He could imagine Mycroft impotent face and the lecture from Father Holmes, when he tried to suggest getting John removed, _for good._

“John! Mate! Are you free?” James scared John out of his wits, when the 00 Agent entered his office barely making any sound and then exploded like that putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Bloody hell, James! Make a sound, ta? You almost gave me a heart attack, you bloody wanker!”

“John, don’t be so sensitive.” Bond said dismissively, rolling his eyes. “A bunch of 00s and I are going to go to a pub, wanna come?” James asked, stopping momentarily and looking at the computer. “Your family?” He asked even if he knew that they were not. They were all absurdly tall, wiry and brunets with calculating eyes. “Bloody Fucking Hell, is that M?”

John looked like a deer caught in the spotlights. FUCK, it was the only word crossing his mind, right now… he was going to end in the Tower of London; he was sure of it; nothing would save him now. He needed to change that wallpaper STAT, he would restrict the photos to his personal computer, before someone that was not as trustworthy as James was able to spot the photo.

“Holy shit, how did you find that photo!?” James asked too stupefied to do anything else.  

“Ergh…” John thanked to every deity that Q was a two drooling years old in that photo. Literally, you could see the _drool_ all over him and Merlin. “Am~ they are… um~ Sherlock’s family…”

“The bloke in the tomb?” James asked with his head reeling; remember the name engraved in the rather tacky granite green tomb.

“This world is a handkerchief, innit?” John offered, lamely.

“There were rumours that M… Olivia…” He forced to call her. “Had children. Her family was so bloody classified; it never got me anywhere, but walls and walls.”

“Ta, her husband and her five children.” John could not, not offer that pyrrhic amount information to the poor man. Everybody knew that Olivia Mansfield (Holmes) was like a surrogated mother to the volatile Agent. James whistled impressed.

“Five children? Bloody hell… she looks absolutely ridiculous, I’m sure she would be trying to execute us right now for even daring to look at her, dressed in that sweater.” James snickered and John couldn’t help but following suit. “Which one is your bloke?”

“That one.” John showed him, the young man in the middle. _Sherlock_ was dressed with tailored dark indigo blue trousers and the sweater was an unflattering shade of olive with Rudolph and a poorly knitted violin on it. 

“Pretty.” James admitted still smirking. “The drooling toddler is awfully cute with that mope of hair… it reminds me of Q, now that I think about it; with those absurd curls forming around his ears.” The toddler’s sweater was difficult to make up, being in his brother’s arms as he was, but it was green and red with knitted Christmas’ patterns in the sleeves.

“They all are.” John told James nostalgic, trying hard to ignore the fact that _it was Q_. “Do you want it?”

“John mate, I would give you my non-existent first born for that photo.” James admitted chucking. The doctor just nodded and sent him that photo in an email. “So, pints in a pub until Q gets called, because of the property damage?” 

“Sure, pints sound good. Let me wrap this all up and I’ll meet you at the exit.”

“That’s the spirit. Not warning Q, ta?”

“Soldier’s honour.” John swore silence to the 00 Agent. James winked, knowing that John could be trusted.

“See you in a tic, John.” James temporally bid his goodbyes to his friend and left him alone in his office. He sent a few quick emails, changed back the wallpaper to the official wallpaper of MI6 and grabbing his jacket; he turned off the lights and walked towards the exit, closing the door behind his back.  

It was curious the gruffly happiness that Mummy and Daddy Holmes displayed in the photograph, while being in each other’s arms. They clearly loved each other very much and he commiserated Siger Holmes a lot, because of the amount of pain he constantly was after losing Sherlock and he hadn’t know the man for the decades and decades the Holmes marriage had each other, neither was he romantically involved with his best friend as everybody liked to presume. He couldn’t even imagine the amount of pain Sherlock’s father had to surmount every day, alone.   

87

Lestrade frowned when an email from John Watson arrived to his inbox… all of his poor coffee spilled, because he didn’t have a warning, a warning would have been nice. He didn’t waste any time and printed the attachments, before MI5 could befall the New Scotland Yard and then he sent them to his bank account in Switzerland and laughed for a whole hour straight. In fact, Donovan was looking at him full with suspicion and worry, because he kept sniggering while checking on a double homicide downtown.

 **John Watson** <watson_j@MI6.gov.UK>  
to _di_g_lestrade@newyard.gov.UK_

Greg. I still don’t want to see you, but I think you need this; so you can feel vindicated. Be careful what you do with this, tho. I have several threats of assassination over my head already, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Ta! Have fun!

\--

Yours Sincerely,   
Medical Agent John H. Watson   
T: 023 0022 2559

**2 Attachments**

IMG40123.jpg  
IMG40124.jpg

    
**Gregory Lestrade** <di_g_lestrade@newyard.gov.UK>  
to _watson_j@universalexports.UK_

John, mate.

To which demon did you have to sell your soul to find this mine of gold?

Much obliged, mate!

\--

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade   
New Scotland Yard Police  
T: 023 2258 9632

 **John Watson** <watson_j@MI6.gov.UK>  
to _di_g_lestrade@newyard.gov.UK_

Daddy Holmes kidnapped me. That’s all I’m allowed to say.

\--

Yours Sincerely,   
Medical Agent John H. Watson   
T: 023 0022 2559

It downed Lestrade when he was getting in his bed that Daddy Holmes existed… _He Gulped._

**TBC**


	19. Overtaxed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: pure and unadulterated filler.

_007\. Mission debrief. Don’t be late –Q_

James groaned still in his bed, when he read Q’s message. He was so hung-over he doubted he could stand, let alone go to MI6 and listen to the droning voice of his Quartermaster. He probably will toss, mid-debrief; something at Q just to make himself feel better of the misery he brought unto himself. Gods… he couldn’t imagine Watson, he had drunk so much; Alec and himself had to take him back to Baker Street while the doctor cried and moaned for one Sherlock Holmes.

Alec had asked; James simply shook his head, not wanting to go into a story he didn’t even completely understood himself. 

Knowing that making Q wait was not the sanest thing one could do, he pushed himself out of the bed and went to the bathroom to take the coldest shower he could muster. Tylenol was for the weak, so he just ignored the pressure behind his eyes and without coffee, he went to MI6.

As always, Q-Branch was an ant farm with the Queen sitting primly on his throne, reading absurd amounts of information in his computer.

“007, my office.” Q informed him, without even looking away from his screen. James watched everything carefully trying to discover how the Quartermaster knew everything that happened everywhere. There were no mirrors, the cameras’ windows were not open in the Quartermaster’s screen or it would be reflected in the mega screen on the wall, which was connected to the smaller screen on the Quartermaster’s desk, there was nothing that could alert the Quartermaster of his presence, he was too far away to be smelled. It was driving him nuts, not knowing how the trick was performed.

“Good day, Q. How are you this merry morning?” He asked, noticing that Q was again missing a few pounds of weight, his hair was a bird’s nest and most of his ridiculous curls were just tangled knots. His glasses were askew and his clothes were all crumpled, he didn’t even have his trademarked cardigan anymore, which meant: something happened to it. James was sure Q had graduated to highly caffeinated beverages, which warned everybody to steer clear from the Quartermaster. The dark circles around his, in this right moment, dull green eyes made him look skeletal and he was so pale, it left him wondering where the hell were Moneypenny and Rose. He did notice that Q-Branch was looking busier than usual.

“Cute, 007.  But answering you query: I am well.” Q was such a lying liar, James thought covertly snorting. “You on the other hand are appallingly hung-over and taking John Watson down with you. Classy, misery loving company and all that rot. To my office.” He ordered again, this time looking at him and signalling his merely decorative office. James just rolled his eyes and went to the small cubicle. He sat in the Quartermaster’s chair just to begin another snark war with the kid.

Q, entered few seconds after he sat and closing the door and darkening the windows he grabbed a remote and turned the screen on the wall on.

“This woman, her name is Karina Blamestorm.” Q explained without beating around the bush, showing him a photo of dirty blond woman with blue-grey eyes. “We are not sure who the hell she really is.” Q admitted as if it pained him deep in his soul.

“Very beautiful.” James pointed out, just to ruffle Q.

“If you are into that sort of thing…” Q snuffed, snobbish. “She is a ghost.”

“What did she steal?” Bond asked knowing Q was not in the mood for bantering.

“Glad you ask, because she slept with a MI5 operative and then ran away with several encryptions cyphers and a million of pounds in cash…” Q informed him, pressing the bridge of his nose. He needed to sleep and to eat; his sight was beginning to black out in the periphery and he loathed admitting it, but his legs were beginning to feel like jelly.

“Happen to the best of us.” James snickered. It was the most common mission of MI6, retrieval of stuff after a spy from another country managed to screw (literally and metaphorically) with the local agents.

“If you people would learn to think with the head attached to your neck, my job would be ten times easier…”

“Where is the fun in that?”

“Well, now we have to run after her like headless cockroaches. So much fun…” The Quartermaster spoke sarcastically. James decided to wisely keep silent. “She was last seen in a small town in the cost Portugal called Cedeira.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Irrelevant. Retrieve the money and kill her, if you want. The cyphers are optional… I am already changing them, so they are worthless, unless she is selling the encryption itself, which would be a pain, but I know my work gets around faster than a new blockbuster in Piratebay, so… let’s not be pretentious.” Q shrugged, running a hand through his hair.

“Have you slept?”

“Quoting Da Vinci: I will sleep when I’m dead. Questions?” Q’s nose decided it was time to sneeze.

_“À tes souhaits, Q.”_ The agent sniggered, when Q sneezed. He sneezed like a bloody kitten. The Quartermaster was too adorable for his own damn good.

“Questions, 007?”  Quintilian pressed tightly, clearly annoyed.

“So, I recover the money and kill her if I want? And if I happen to run into the cyphers I bring them back, but they are not a priority?”

“Yes, hardly rocket science, 007.”

“When do I get deployed?” James asked, frowning; when the lights in the office faltered. He looked at Q, whom was taking a few deep breaths and then, clumsily took a seat on the small couch facing the wall, which was particular shocking to watch, giving the grace with which the Quartermaster normally moved. “Are you alright?” Stupid question. Q’s lips which were usually spared from the rest of his body paleness were now greyish and the cracks there were even more noticeable.    
  
“Yeah.” Q’s eyes were glossy.

“You are not ok.”

“Yes, 007. I’m feeling like I don’t have a floor under my feet anymore. There… feel better, now?” Q hissed like a cat. “The envelope on the desk is for you. Leave the office when you feel ready.”

“Where the hell are you going?” James asked harshly standing from the Quartermaster’s chair.

“To throw up in the lavatories, maybe.” Q muttered deeply annoyed, and with those words; he tried to leave the office.

“You can kick all you want. You are going to Medical, now.” James grabbed Q by his arm and dragged him like a rag doll.

“Excuse you?” Q tried to disembarrass himself from Bond, without results, very offended.

All members of Q-Branch looked at each other, not knowing what to do when 007 and Q left Q-Branch, with the 00 Agent manhandling their Overlord.

“Should we do something?” Danielle asked her co-workers shifting worriedly on her seat.

“To whom are you going to call, Danielle? It’s bloody 007.” Georgina answered Danielle, peaking a little from her station.

“Oh for the love of the Flying Spaghetti Monster! 007 is going to sacrifice our Master! We have to do something!” German despaired in panic.

“Don’t be silly, German.” Danielle dismissed German’s panicky words. “007 is an Atheist.”

“Not the point!” Anne hissed worried. “Q has been awake for longer than recommended for a human and none of us have eaten anything else than red bull and chips that we stole from the vending machine!” Q-Branch refused to give money to something that could be hacked too frigging easy, no matter how many memos were sent from administration and human resources and… M too.

“I will call Rose or Moneypenny; I will make the call simultaneously, actually… the one that answers me first.” Georgina made everybody know. The Kingdom of Q-Branch all nodded in agreement. Rose or Moneypenny will know what to do and actually had the power to inflict damage to 007.

89

“For Mary’s sake, leave me the hell alone. You already poked me to your heart’s content while I was unconscious, what else do you want of me?” Q asked annoyed. He had been confined to medical, M’s orders; because no Agent was available to take Q home and babysit him, in case something happened and his blood or sugar levels plummeted to the floor and sent him spiralling.  

“It’s just me, John. I’m just going to take you home.”

“I’m not five; I don’t need anybody taking me anywhere.”  Q made the doctor know gritting his teeth.

Midway to Medical, Bond had got tired of the struggle and actually had the gall to take Q and shove him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He had never been so humiliated before. The cake was him vomiting in the middle of Medical, because of Bond’s manhandling. It was a good thing the agent just grunted and then left him to the tender mercies of Medical and didn’t see him, spilling tears of frustration and humiliation, which formed out his control with everything collapsing and crashing around him.  

He had been forced to eat much more than his stomach was able to _stomach_ and then he was sedated without his consent, but he guessed that M was all the consent they needed not only M, being his immediate boss, but also his godfather. He woke few hours later with a horrible headache that made his stomach cringe and two bags of gods-knew-what going directly to his veins. 

“Q, why do you do this to yourself? You know you are anaemic and you still push yourself beyond human limits. You can’t be alone, if your blood pressure or your sugar drops anymore… well, you know what will happen.” Q just stayed stubbornly silent. “Can you tell me something?” Q just grunted. “Would it kill you to find a minion to get food and at least micro-sleep for a few hours every day? It is so difficult for you to do those simple things?” John sighed annoyed. “Quintilian, answer. _Please.”_ He added, as an afterthought. He knew that he wasn’t anything of Q to be scolding him like a child. Even if he was 100% certain that Father Holmes or even Mycroft, wouldn’t object to him; shaking some sense into their youngest.

“I don’t work that way…” Q offered painfully to the doctor, still not facing him.

“What?” Bloody Holmes!

“I don’t get the normal warnings people get, right until I’m crashing.”

“So, you are telling me that you don’t feel hunger or thirst and that you are unable to feel your own bloody body shutting down; right until it’s happening?” John asked incredulous.

“Basically…”

“That’s absurd, Q. The human body has been specifically designed to warm you about running to fast or lifting too much weight… or being about to crash!” John took a deep breath and calmed himself down. “It doesn’t matter. Get up, Q. I have your things with me.” John helped Q, getting off of the bed where the young man was lying, and glared him to dare to protest the help. “We are going to Baker Street.” Now Q tried to protest. “You need to eat… real food; from a bloody house… not a restaurant. Mrs Hudson jumped at the favour of cooking for you. Then I will take you to Knightsbridge if you don’t want to stay in 221B.”

“I’m not ten…”

“Really? Curious, because you are behaving like one. We are not the bloody enemy, Q. How do you think that M or Q-Branch feels every time your body gives up in front of us? Um~?” John was never proud of emotionally manipulating people, but with the Holmes’ there was never other way. Q looked like a bloody kicked puppy, it didn’t matter how hard the young man tried to conceal it. It broke John’s heart. “Look, I understand you have outrageous responsibilities for somebody who should be failing uni and drinking his stupidities away.” He could clearly see, Q despairing inside. “But this ridiculous. Q, nobody expects for you to run Q-Branch all by yourself. Go home; relax, play something, get laid if you are actually into that sort of thing, but you are going to run yourself to the ground before you are thirty. And then what all the troubles will be worth for?”

Silence. At least Q was easier to guilty trip than Sherlock. He supposed that Sherlock had several more years to partially desensitise himself from guilt.

“Just let’s go.” He half-ordered his new wayward charge, pushing him a little to walk, while he had Q’s shoulder bag and the rest of the clothes (his parka and his cardigan) which he had been losing in favour of comfort; day by day, in his arms; along with his own things.

A car was waiting for them to take them wherever they went. Q was silent and unusually small, which greatly surprised the chauffeur. John just gave the man a warning look and told him to get them to 221B, Baker Street. The man just nodded and drove.

“Yuhu! Hello, Q, John! Welcome back!”

“Mrs Hudson.”

“Oh you poor thing, dear; you look awfully pale. Don’t you worry, I have made you some dinner and then I have tea and dessert. Do you like chocolate cake?” Martha asked Quintilian, mothering him. Q just shrugged, too _everything_ to do _anything._ “Jesus, you are freezing… come in… come on, come on.” The Landlady hurried them both. John put the sleet grey parka on Q’s shoulders. Q covered his body, feeling awful and vulnerable. He jogged to get a little solitude, wanting to have a little time to himself to lick his wounded pride, even if only for a few seconds. “Poor thing.” Mrs Hudson told John worried, looking Sherlock’s younger brother enter 221B quickly.

“Tell me about it. I just feel like the frigging villain.” John confessed to Mrs Hudson, pinching his nose. “I’m never having children of my own.”

“Don’t be silly, John. You would do a terrific job as a parent.”

“I’m sorry to burden you with this, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hush, dear. He is Sherlock’s darling brother. It’s the least I can do.”

Martha and John just watched Q fumble with his food barely managing to keep his eyes open, he did finish all his food and the tea and the cake with a little bit of cajoling from both, Mrs Hudson and John. The moment they looked away, Quintilian was sleeping with his arms crossed on his chest and his chin resting on his sternum. John couldn’t help, but to smile fondly.

“Go and take him to Sherlock’s room. I doubt he will be coherent for much more than that after all the medications and the big dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“We are undeserving of you, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hush, darling. You will make me blush.”

“Thank you.” Martha just dismissed John’s words. She was happy to be useful. “Q… Q… c’mon Q, if James was here he would carry to the room, but my bad shoulder doesn’t allow me to do that sort of things anymore…” Q was death to the world and with good reason. “Quintilian.” John called longsuffering. Martha smiled silently; at least she now had a name, she just kept tiding everything; trying not to disturb the moment, so John wouldn’t kick himself for uttering that name. “Oh c’mon…” John grabbed one of Q’s arms and put it around his neck and pulling a little; he lifted the boy, whose weight was negligible, which only served to make John fret some more. It was pure luck that the movement half-awoke the Computer Genius. “Let’s get you to bed, Q.” Q just hummed drugged, helping himself with John’s good shoulder to keep sleeping. The doctor could only chuckle, Q really was just a kitten.

After getting Q in bed, he debated for a whole five minutes if undressing Q. He decided that yes, he would do that; so he first searched for one of Sherlock’s pyjama shirts. Mycroft tried to box everything that belonged to Sherlock to send to, now he knew; Sussex, but he had pitched a fit and everything was just like Sherlock left it and that way it would stay until the day he left Baker Street, which he would take every single thingamabob with him, or the humans found a way to return the dead to the realm of the living.  

He finished undressing Q and with a lot of troubles, he put Sherlock’s too big shirt for Q on; when everything was done, Q moved; to get in the position he usually slept which was, apparently: hugging the pillow and making himself a little ball in foetal position. It was adorable. He chuckled softly, careful of not waking the Quartermaster.

He checked that Q didn’t have a fever and neither his temperature dropped any more, after that he took his pulse, which was still too slow. Then he just watched Q sleep; sighing like if he just ran a marathon. He wished that Sherlock was there, John was pretty sure that Sherlock would have known how to manage this clusterfuck better than he did. At least Q was still alive and kicking. Who was he kidding? Had James not gone all Caveman Neanderthal on Q, nobody would have known Q was crashing, _again._ It did take a village to, metaphorically, raise, an also metaphorical; kid. No shit.

He didn’t know what possessed him to grab his phone and text Mycroft, but he had already sent the message when he regretted doing so.

_How the hell did you live with Q all these years without having a mental breakdown? –John_

_I will assume Quintilian is being his usual obtuse self and just collapsed from exhaustion in front of everybody, which caused massive panic. I have a patience of a thousand saints, I presume. It still frustrates me greatly. As you understand, neither S nor Q, have the best disposition to accept help. Dose him and leave him in bed for a few days, I will take care of his duties as Quartermaster while he recovers. That usually works; you have our consent and thanks. Good Luck and my apologies that you are now saddled with something worse than Sherlock –MH._

“Wanker.” John sneered at the phone, still sitting on the verge of Sherlock’s bed, where Quintilian was sleeping with a tired gesture and his breath still uneven.     

“How is that poor boy, John?” Martha asked from the frame of the door.

“If he doesn’t get up of that bed from the next two days, he will be fine. He is young.”

“Yes, but he will not be young forever.” Martha pointed out, worriedly.

And that was the issue…

90

“Tell me you are playing Call of Duty or whatever… in that computer.” John pleaded to Q, when the next day, before departing to work; he went to check on the Quartermaster.

“007 refuses to work with anyone else…” Q explained, his voice strained and tired.

“I’m sure James understands that you are convalescent.” John scolded Q again, rudely closing the laptop, exalting Q and then taking it away. “I’m taking everything with me. Your laptop, your phone, you can have mine and your tablet _and_ your bag. Mrs Hudson said she doesn’t have a problem with checking you from time to time. I will come back later, M’s orders.” John shielded himself behind Mallory, immediately; before Q could object. “Try to sleep, alright?” He caressed the young man’s head. No answer. “Here, take these.” Q was unusually pliable and accepted the glass of water and the pills. “How do you feel?”

“I want to crawl in a hole and die.” Q sounded like it. Good, that would assure John the young man would stay on the bed.

“Good, I made breakfast. Try to eat, but I know I’m talking to the wall. See you in a few hours. Try to _sleep_ for the Sacred Mother of the Lord.” John pleaded longsuffering and then he went away making good on his threat and taking everything that could be used as a computer with him. Except the television, John forgot the telly… which Q could work miracles with it, but Mrs Hudson had glared at him, until he was a quivering mess on the floor. So he just ended in Sherlock’s room, looking at the window, _again._

91

“Are you sure you are feeling good enough to be doing this, darling?” Mrs Hudson asked Quintilian. “I’m sure John told you to rest.”

“If I rest much more: I will throw myself out of the window.”

“Very well, dear. You win. But if I see you getting pale again, you are going back to bed, no buts.” Q didn’t say anything, but it was implicit that Mrs Hudson was the boss. “I’m really grateful that you are fixing this for me. Sherlock tried once, god knows he had all the faculties to fix it… but he kept finding pieces to do other things, in the end… I had everything else, except the dryer. John scolded Sherlock until he put it back together, but he never got around to fixing the issue.”

“That is why Mummy never let Sherlock fix anything. He is a nightmare.” Q made the Landlady know constipated, unscrewing stuff and screwing others. “Besides, Sherlock just wanted to make Mummy’s life difficult. Daddy is an inventor. He can fix mostly everything in the house…”

“My Sherlock never spoke of his family. I always presumed his father was dead and his mother possessed a poor health… it’s how John and I explained Mycroft’s most overbearing tendencies.” Q snorted. 

“No, he is just naturally nosy. He is thousands of times better than Sherrinford, though.”

“Who?”

“Ah yes. I keep forgetting Sherlock doesn’t talk about this. We are five brothers. Sherrinford and Merlin, you don’t know them yet and to be honest, I doubt you will get around meeting them. One lives in Switzerland and the other is too busy with the Pendragon’s heir to have a life. I barely get to see him anymore…” Q mumbled, trying to shove his disappointment back down his throat. 

“Poor darling… you miss your big brother?” Martha asked sadly, rubbing his right shoulder.

“I do not miss anybody.” He defended himself, clenching his teeth; returning in full to repairing the dryer and maybe making it capable of swallowing people and killing them.  

“I’m sure he would love to see you too, Q. But sometimes life gets in the way.” She patted his shoulder and then she walked away toward the refrigerator. “Cheer up! There is still Christmas and maybe Easter!”

“My family is Atheist and… I never really came around on what I should believe.” 

_Poor kid._ It was Mrs Hudson’s predominant thoughts.

92

By the time John returned to Baker Street, Q had fixed everything that could be fixed in 221B, randomly read pages of fifty books that belonged to Sherlock and were still spread around. He was tricked to eat four times and to be honest, by the time he noticed what the sneaky Landlady was doing; he had already fallen in the bloody trap. He was also tricked to take a promenade in London, under the pretext of escorting Mrs Hudson to buy _whatever,_ he didn’t pay attention to her plead, only nodding disperse and when they returned to the flat, Q noticed the old woman didn’t purchase anything at all. 

He was now meditating in the middle of the lounge with the television on, but there was no open channel. You could only hear and see static.

“Of course you’d like the sound of static of the telly to relax.” It was John amused greeting. Q stopped meditating and looked at the blonde man.

“Doctor Watson.” It was Q non-committal answer.

“God, you look so much healthier already. How are you feeling?” John asked kneeling to where the kid was and touched his forehead, making Q immediately weary.

“I am not sure what do you mean. I am about to jump out of a window…”

“Good. You can keep feeling like jumping out of a window. You are still staying here or in Knightsbridge until tomorrow. Your temperature is still awfully low.”

“To be honest doctor, my temperature has never been that high to being with.”

“Don’t lie. I called Mycroft; he dislodged your medical files… I know your temperature is not normal in other human beings, but you are still too far off the norm. I brought a thermometer, would you mind?”

“Knock yourself out…” Q resigned himself to his fate of being mothered by John Watson.

“Did you eat and take all your medications?” John asked with the electric thermometer on Q’s right ear.

“Yes.” The green-eyed boffin answered curtly.

“Did you rest?”

“What do you think I did all day? Go and run a frigging marathon around London?”

“You know what I mean Q and I wouldn’t have minded that much if you decided to take a jog around London.” The thermometer blipped, John looked at the small screen: 34.2 degrees. “Jesus… how can you be that coherent?” The doctor in John wanted to take Q to the nearest hospital. Q, of course; just shrugged dismissively. “Just go to bed, for the Queen’s sake.” Q sighed annoyed and jogged to Sherlock’s room, in a tantrum. “Bloody Holmes…”

93

Q was ready and willing to kill somebody, that somebody being Mrs Hudson or John Watson or both… to escape their worried ministrations. To be honest, he had never felt so healthy before and it was ticking him off. He was allowed to go, the next day; to Knightsbridge and check that his Mother’s flat was still standing. Everything was in perfect working order and Scheherazade was not that thrilled to see him, so he just gave her the cold shoulder in return, which was maybe why the cat liked him so much.

Not having an actual excuse to get Watson out of his way, he just picked some clothes, refilled Scheherazade’s machine with cat food and water and then left the flat, flanked inconspicuously by the good Doctor to return to Baker Street, so he could finally; tomorrow, return to his normal life. 

He was awake at four in the morning and he didn’t know if begin to prepare himself to go to work. Watson had the ear of a bloody 00 and he didn’t know if the man would take offense in him trying to get to work at such ungodly hours of the early morning. So he just stayed, lying in Sherlock’s bed, with the cover up to his chest; listening to all the static surrounding 221B, Baker Street. It was the damndest thing that he fell back to sleep, to be awakened by John Watson at seven and at half AM.

“Good Morning, Q. How do you feel?”

“I have probably reached the point, where I’m willing to commit murder with intent…”

“No need to go around killing people. Let me give you a check over, it’s me or medical when you arrive to MI6.” Quintilian just sighed annoyed. “And then you can go and almost kill yourself again.”

They left Baker Street at eight and a quarter and even if John, without Sherlock; didn’t take cabs. He did it; not wanting to sort through, a Holmes in the tube… besides Mallory would kill him if he left the Quartermaster of MI6, in such a vulnerable position to be hurt; like it was likely in the tube without a 00 Agent present to sort all the issues through.

“Well, I see you around, ta? Probably in your next crisis.” It was John’s goodbye when they entered the building, not having any  misconception that this was the last time he would have to put his foot down and kidnap the Quartermaster to save him from himself, after James noticed that Q was about to collapse. He just wished that the next time, he would have the possibility to have Sherlock beside him.

Gods, he would give his right arm to watch Sherlock go into overprotective older brother.

“Good morning, sir.” The guard greeted cheerfully, after John Watson passed through and walked towards the lifts. 

“Good morning, Danny. How is everything?” Q asked calmly and going to the card machine and with his eyes closed he pulled the card, slid it; putting his thumb and then his pinkie on the reader to be granted access to MI6.

“All in working order, sir! You were sorely missed.”

“I appreciate the sentiment.” Q snorted and then he gifted the man with a shy smile, which might or might not have killed Danny from the shock.

“Sir, if I may; you are looking terrific.”

“Yes, I feel too. Good day, Danny.” 

“And to you too, sir!”

94

“You are a bloody idiot.” Moneypenny made him know, flicking him on the middle of his forehead to make a point. “Hum~ that Watson is a miracle worker. I have never seen you that healthy before…”

“Whatever.”

“C’mon, you dolt. Q-Branch is on the verge of collapsing without their Overlord. I think they might cry when they see you, they have been passing around 007, like a hot potato. Mallory is about to deny help to the man, until you come back.”

“Oh joy… a ruffled 007.”

“You know that we only do this, because we care about you, don’t you?” Eve asked him, stopping walking again and looking at him, penetratingly. Q just sighed, remorseful. The mocha skinned woman kissed him on the forehead like if he was seven years old. Q just could sigh again, it seemed that even when he was forty and with grey hairs, he would still be the baby around…

Moneypenny escorted him up to the doors of Q-Branch and with another kiss, this time in his right cheek; she went away.

“OH MY GOD!” German was the first to shout, relief washing all over Q-Brach. “IT’S Q! ALL HAIL OUR OVERLORD!” The dark skinned man ordered like the King’s court herald. Everybody sniggered at his antics.

“Very funny, German.” Q just shook his head, sliding his glasses back up and walking to his throne. When he was there, Georgina was the first to arrive to his desk.

“I might cry to the sight of you, sir.” 

“Good Morning, Georgina.”

“007, please. We beg you.” The poor girl looked about to breakdown.

“Yes, yes… I will take care of 007; just let me turn the computer on.”

“Thank you.” She said very emphatic. “And please, don’t leave us again, when 007 too far away from Headquarters.”

“Will do my best, Georgina.”

“Good… good… I don’t know what the Good Doctor did, but you’re looking awesome, sir.”

“Go back to your station, Georgina.” Q ordered with his everlasting patience.   

“Oh? Right… my station, right… looking good, sir.” And with those words, she winked at him and returned to her working station. Q sighed and taking a seat, he contacted his wayward agent, while James’ red dot came to life.

“007, this is Q, do you copy?”

_“Bloody hell, I would never have thought I would say this, but it’s good to have your droning voice back in my ear, Q.”_

“I am glad to be of service, 007. Now, would you like to tell me, why did you terrorize Q-Branch in my absence?”

James was a smart man. He said nothing and just meekly updated the Quartermaster on his mission. He knew Q would get him back for terrorizing Q-Branch, but for now; he was safe in Portugal. It was so unfair, every other 00 Agent was allowed to put Q-Branch through rain and hail, but because he was exclusive to the Quartermaster, he couldn’t do it anymore. 004 even hinted that if he wanted in again; he would have to give up his exclusivity to their Quartermaster.

No way in seven hells. Those forty hours had been hell without Q.  

**TBC**


	20. Katarina Blomstorm

95

“007.” Q decided to speak to his agent, while having visual; having hacked the hotel’s CCTV.

 _“What is it? Is something wrong? Something’s wrong?”_ James asked with his martini in his hands, noticing the Quartermaster’s hesitation in his voice; watching his mark with an eagle eye. The woman was swimming in a very revealing swim suit.

“I… um~ I have seen you in plenty of missions before this one and…” His extraordinary vocabulary was failing him now.

 _“Spit it, Q.”_ The agent urged his Quartermaster, with his drink close to his lips.

“I think you are getting a little bit too attached to her, Bond.” _It’s unnatural…_ he wanted to say to his agent, but he decided against

 _“Don’t be stupid, Q.”_ The man growled, annoyed.

“No, listen. I know you think you are impenetrable, but this is her M.O. that was how she _got_ into that MI5 agent, Bond.” Of course, his words fell to deaf ears.

_“Q… do kindly shut up. I have been doing this since before you were potty trained.”_

“I don’t have any evidence to support my claims, but… first I think she knows you are not who you say you are…”

 _“You are such a naïve little kid, Q.”_ James mocked him. _“Of course, she does. It’s a game we play.”_

“Well, it’s my job to give you all the pertinent information I possess. My job is done, do whatever the hell you want, 007. Q out.”  Rose watched Q with a guarded expression, waiting for the Quartermaster to finish the call.

“Q. You can’t save 007 from himself. He always does this: Lynd’s and Severine’s case comes to mind on the top of my head. It seems he has a weakness for pretty, broken things.”

“I wouldn’t have that many issues with the fact he has this quirk. I know he uses woman like if they were rags of disposable clothes. I just know this is not going to end well.” Watching Bond every day in that mission was like watching the Titanic getting closer and closer to his doom at the hand of an iceberg.

“It never does. Don’t worry, Q. He will not appreciate your concern…” And wasn’t that the pure, unaltered truth. “He will complete the mission to the best of his abilities and then he will return to England nursing a broken heart. Gods know that there will be amounts of alcohol and women that will send Medical to pitch a fit and then he will forget it and the cycle will begin again.”

“I don’t understand how people put themselves willingly in a position of being used and then getting themselves hurt, because of it. I saw my brother being destroyed by it and he is the closest thing to a heartless bastard you are ever going to meet.”

“It is human nature, isn’t it?” Danielle joined the conversation shyly from her workstation. “It happens to all of us. We just want to be loved.”

“I don’t think 007 understands love.” Georgina gathered courage to speak after Danielle did it first. “I don’t think any 00 Agent understands love. They use people like a tools, to be discarded obsoletes afterwards… even their own friends. The things 007 and 006 had done to each other, doesn’t speak of a healthy, friendly relationship.” Q-Branch was unusually quiet and sombre.

“I don’t like to talk about it…”

Everybody went into shock when one of the older Agents in Q-Branch spoke. The older you got in Q-Branch, the less you would be likely to comment. They were just unsuspecting shadow behind a computer, having seen the world through the eyes of the Agents of MI6 and their foes.

“I was 007’s Quartermaster for a while… Boothroyd couldn’t always pander to 007’s whims and our ‘S’ refused to even get close to a comm. with 007 on the other side, but I don’t think he understands what he is doing, but he rapes people and then laughs while doing it and I’m not just speaking from a sexual perception… he just doesn’t recognize there is a line you probably shouldn’t cross if you understand the rules.”     

“It cannot be all their faults. They have been trained to be ruthless killers…” Another Q-Brancher joined the conversation.

“So we blame our government?”

“They knew what they were getting in to. Former M didn’t bullshit people. I was recruited by her, her first words to me were: you are going to see the world burn and you will probably be able to do nothing about it, if you think you can live with that, then welcome to MI6. I will never be able in my life to forget those bloody words.”

“Kevin is right… they are not helpless children kidnaped to serve their country… they are full grown people that signed, _willingly,_ to do this… so, they were fucked up already to being with.”  

“He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.”

“Nietzsche… he didn’t have a bloody idea of what he was talking about half of the time.” Another interjected snorting.

“It is more like a Nurture vs. Nature… they are mostly also victims of the circumstances. 002 was victim of Al-Qaeda before she joined MI6, god only knows what they did to her there that would turn her into the perfect killing weapon without remorse.”

“I know 007’s wife-to-be was killed with a headshot in the altar.”

“So, are you saying that they can do what they do, the way they do; because they have a troubled childhood?” A new person entered the conversation, deeply annoyed. “If that is, I was raped when I was seven, multiple times and for the life of me, I wouldn’t desire my fate to anybody or get revenge, besides the justice of the perpetrators being in jail and away from avoid other children being harmed…”

“Not everyone can cope with trauma in a healthy way.” Rose returned to the conversation.

“We have institutions for that sort of things.” The Nietzsche’s defector interjected again.

“Yes and they are called MI6.” Everybody just shut up when Q spoke again. “Return to work, before somebody comes and complains that we are badmouthing their precious one-man-army, killing machines.”

96

Q was coding leisurely, listening to some obscure medieval folk music when the music halted and 007’s voice came alive.

 _“She is freaking smart. She already laundered the money and it’s now sitting safely in her bank account… all legal and even taxes paid…”_ Bond was beginning to sound frustrated after two weeks of beating around the bush without results. _“Hell, I can get to the cyphers quicker and I’m pretty sure, crime syndicates are already fighting each other for the new ones you created, by now.”_

“Well, that was painfully quick.” Q offered a neutral, snarky answer to his agent without stopping doing what he was doing.

_“What we didn’t know what that he has a lot of things, bad people would pay a lot of money for… and we are sitting ducks. She has already spoken with two of them. I recognized one of them. It was dumb luck I saw the bloody tattoo on the buyer’s feet when she was swimming… The Thong.”_

“I did ask myself why you hadn’t killed her already and come back with her computer.” Q said feeling a headache coming his way.

_“It was when I was about to bloody kill her that I noticed the clusterfuck she had gathered. She might be a Ghost in our system… but she is well known in the criminal world.”_

“Fine, fine… Jesus… I will alert M and… now that I have more information, let me poke around to see what I can get you. Bond…”

_“Yes?”_

“Give me three things, besides of the Cyphers and the money that she had stolen in the last six months.”

_“Give me two bloody days… I see what I can do.”_

“Take three… there is no hurry.” Q said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. “Q out.”

Q stood from his station and pushing his glasses back up, he walked to exit Q-Branch and went to M’s office to notify the man of 007’s uncanny ability to create a storm in the littlest teacup.

97

 **Topic:** I need intel. (can trade for intel. of the same value or money)

 **Q10**  
********** △  
Omniscient God / SUPERADMIN Moderator

Hey, does anybody know anything about the Ghost that stole the Russians’ classified files KLJ852LK and KLJ852LL, the North Korean targeted smart weaponry’s blueprints and the long range communications device prototypes of the Americans?

\--

 **BishOP**  
*******  
Hacker Houdini / Junior Moderator

Q! My man! I thought I would never hear from you again! We were betting that you got caught! Glad to know you are alive and kicking! We are trying to find out about the long range communications devices, what do you know? And if you don’t know a thing, what the hell are you expecting from us?

\--

 **Annunaki**  
*  
N00b

OMG! IS THAT _Q?_ Like, the actual _real_ Q? Don’t know shit of that, but *FANGIRLING HARD*

\--

 **Deneria**  
***  
Hacker

I might know something about the North Korean weapons… maybe… is this actually safe? It was a mistake. OH GOD… I’m going to end in jail… please, help.

\--

 **BIshOP**  
*******  
Hacker Houdini / Junior Moderator

_In Reply to Deneria:_

Girl, you might want to go to our Support Group section… you are barking at the wrong tree here.

\--

 **K*WIzARD**  
*****  
Hacker Master

OMG Q! I need u lik ASAP now that u’ve surfaced. I’ll pay anything u want dude Even my no existent unborn chld!

\--

 **Malaki**  
*******  
Hacker Houdini

I brought information from her, once. She is a total ghost, not to your level Q, but it was a damn good job, in making her disappear. Woman, blond, grey-blue eyes, really pretty, I have a phone number, if anybody is interested.

\--

 **Roksana**  
********  
Supreme Hacker Overlord / Guest Moderator

I have information you might want to know about the Russian’s missing files. Trade you, da?

\-- 2210 Replies --

 **Q10**  
********** △  
Omniscient God / SUPERADMIN Moderator

_In reply to Roksana:_

I’m watching you, you bitch. You do something to my systems, I will burn your eyes… send me a private message.

98

Q and M were in the older man’s office, with a laptop which was trying to communicate with 007.

“Do I want to know what you did to find the information you possess?” M asked his godson full with suspicious.

“You should know better than that, Uncle Gareth. I am omniscient. There is nothing I cannot find in the Internet…”

“And that is the only reason, why you get to get away with it… don’t make it a habit, Q.”

“You don’t even know what I did.” Q huffed offended.

“I know _you_ and I know your family. You would go to the devil itself if you can get your proverbial bone that way…”  

_“007, here.”_

“Good afternoon, 007.”

 _“Good afternoon, sir and Q. Do you have something for me?”_ The Agent asked wearing an undershirt while cleaning his gun on the table in his hotel room. 

“Her name, her real one is Katarina Blomstorm. She was a teacher in a public school in Kiruna, before she fell in love, sent her promising career down the drain and here comes the void; she resurfaces as a mercenary a few years ago. I don’t know who the hell made the cleaning job, but it was real good, possibly Moriarty.” Q explained to his agent and to M at the same time. “She has been stealing high-profile goods from everywhere and everybody, since them.”

_“So, not much to go.”_

“No. I found you a crutch, though. Her name is Roksana, don’t piss her off or she will carve your member with a rusted spoon and force you to eat it. Also, don’t trust her or eat or drink anything she offers you. She will not betray you, if you don’t do it first, though.”  

_“Is she pretty?”_

“Yes, she is awfully pretty, 007. Also you will not see hair nor hide from her while you are working with her and she has the training of an agent.”

 _“Pity.”_ Bond mocked the Quartermaster. M just wanted to zap them both in their heads for being such high level morons. “ _How do I contact her?”_

“You won’t, she will. Seriously Bond, don’t piss her off. She is known to hold grudges and she is too useful to me and I to her; to lose our professional relationship, because of your temper and quirks.”

“I get it; I will be in my best behaviour just for you, Q.”

“I’m not worried. She is a lesbian with a grudge for men. Like, she would kick you, if you look at her the wrong way.”

“Why does she work with you?” Mallory and Bond asked, really curious.

“Well, if you ping my identity in the online world, I might or might not be a seventy year old woman…”   

Face Palm.

“And people buy it?”

“Noup and that’s everything that you are going and need to know. Good luck, 007. We are watching.” And with those words, he cut the connection.

“You know son, one day I’m not even sure, _I_ can protect you from 007.”

“Well, Uncle Gareth then it’s a good thing I don’t really need protection.”

99

Q was sitting on his throne just like any other day, minding 007; with a cup of Earl Grey in his hand. It was fucking freezing in Q-Branch, because R&D might or might have not broken the thermostat. Everybody had their noses red and the tips of their fingers blue. Especially because they also might or might have not screwed with the Oxygen supply… of course, he had already punished the perpetrators with the harshest penalty the law would allow him, after Communication and Q-Branch members all joined in one voice for him to punish the bloody idiots. He couldn’t make those poor freezing people beg.

 _“Um~ James, I can’t wait to get alone with you in a room… champagne, caviar… maybe even more if you are a good boy…”_ She chuckled seductively.

Q heard how Katarina was seducing James to her bed or… he didn’t even know who was doing whom by now. 007 just chuckled with a dark rumbled that so close to the comm. device, it allowed you to feel the vibration in your ears, you could even hear the man caressing her clothed body, the soft rustles of the garments. He turned the volume down. 

“007 I’m sorry to burst your pretty bubble.” Q hissed offended, trying not to give away that Bond had somebody in his ear. “But I am not comfortable with what you are doing right now. I have not intentions of ever discovering your so-called prowess in bed.” He was utterly and completely ignored, if anybody was interested. With the passionate scene Q was being forced to watch, he could hear some annoying tapping. “Damn it Bond! If you are trying to use Morse, I don’t partake in useless and deprecated systems of communications!” Meaning Q didn’t know Morse and he made the man know it, which only achieved that Bond almost choked with his glass of champagne, trying to drown his laughter. “Oh for fuck’s sake, let me see if Wikipedia can help me translate you tapping.”

_“Ticklish, James?”_

_“Oh, you have now idea, Darling.”_

“No. I’m sorry, I give up. Call me tomorrow when I have invented something that translates your cavemen method of communication. Why don’t you try to send me some nice smoke signals next time? You bloody wanker.”

 _“Oh James… you have me all wet.”_ The woman with 007, moaned quite slutty.

Q could just… _DESPAIR_ where he was sitting _._

“Oh God…” He whispered traumatized. “I’m forever scarred.” 

_“Take me to your room, before we are arrested for lewd behaviour, ja?”_

“Shut your bloody comm. if you are going to do her, Bond! I refuse to hear this.” Q hissed equally mortified and annoyed with the agent.

The issue was that MI6 had a policy that stated that somebody was always to stay on the other side of the comm. if the agents had the device turned on, of course; Q could forgo the stupid policy and give Bond a little bit of his own medicine, but the stupid Neanderthal was trying to give him a message and he would felt too horrible with himself, if he ditched Bond.

They arrived to _her_ room and in a moment too soon for Q, James had the mercenary pushed to the wall, he heard a more discreet _thump_ , like if somebody just put something down, probably a glass or something, when a window popped up in his screen. Bond had put his smartphone close enough to the computer with remote connection enabled.

“If she has Wi-Fi enabled I can hack her.” Q deciphered at last, in an eureka moment. 

Bond just hummed, happily.

“You are going to pay with your blood this humiliation, Bond.”

Q had from fifteen minutes to an hour, depended if Bond was into Tantric sex or not; to hack the bloody computer. It took him five minutes to get access to her password-less computer, turned on as it was, to find out that she had her computer under the Polymorphic encryption that he created and Silva used against him.

Bond was probably licking her in all places, going by the sounds; when Q needed to speak again. He was so red and twitchy; everybody in Q-Branch was beginning to grow concerned.

“You are not going to like this…” Bond just rumbled with annoyance. “I need the password to break the encryption; like I did with Silva or get to her omega site and pass two weeks trying to brute force her computer into giving me what I want. I also would need the computer to see who encrypted it.” There were some weird noises. “Oh for everything that is sacred, 007 turn it off, this can wait. You have no idea, what the apparatus in your ear can capture.” Bond was clearly torturing him, for some unknown reason or just merely by sick pleasure. “I am going to get back to you for this.” Q muttered annoyed to the man, listening to the sexual orchestra Bond was serenading him with. He was going to kill the man and leave him to waste in some of the deepest parts of the Thames. When Bond stopped paying attention, because he was too enthralled, going by the slick sounds of something entering and leaving seamlessly, along with the moaning and groaning, Q sent the man to hell and turned everything off.  

“Everything alright there, sir?”

“No, but I am planning on rectifying it, once 007 comes back to London.”

“Should we be planning another eulogy for Bond?” 

“At least give me a week to properly torture him first.”

“You got it, sir.” The minion accepted cheerfully, returning to his work.

**TBC**


End file.
